


The Plunnie Ate My Brain

by The_Plot_Bunny_Whisperer



Category: Bewitched, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005), Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Firefly, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural, X-Men, ああっ女神さまっ | Ah! Megami-sama! | Oh My Goddess!
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Weirdness, attempted humor, not really sure how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:41:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 46,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5791198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plot_Bunny_Whisperer/pseuds/The_Plot_Bunny_Whisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble-plot-idea-thingies from my plunnie farm that never quite made it to big kid's table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Preface

These are various drabbles that, once upon a time, were going to be stories. And then I grew bored/got writers block/forgot/etc (of/about) them, so they never went anywhere. Some are actual beginnings, most are just outlines of what I wanted to write with little scene-y bits. A few are actually quite long, because I did intend to finish them, I just never got around to it, and most likely won't.

No, there is not more to any of these ideas. Yes, you may borrow and/or use them (why you would want to, though, is beyond me), just **send me a message when you start posting**. Most of these are something I started because it was something I wanted to read but couldn't find/didn't exist, so if you do borrow them, please share. Unlike most fanfic authors who are _very understandably_ annoyed/hurt/angry when their stuff is "borrowed" (read: plagiarized), the only thing I care about is that you're honest it isn't your own or not completely your own. I get upset about the lying, not the theft. (I don't know how my brain works either.)

No, I will not continue them. Yes, most are quite amateurish, and were written when I was still quite new to the whole authoring business. (Translation: They're old. And bad-ish.) Although, some were ideas I came up with during my writing funk (which I'm still not quite out of) that started a few years ago after a few family deaths that killed most of my inspiration, so hopefully they're not too bad. We can only hope.

If you review to tell me they suck... well, you're most likely right, but I warned you about that already so you have no reason to reiterate. If you feel you must, though, go ahead and take out your frustrations on my poor plunnies. They're in comas anyway, it's not like they'll care.

Why am I putting them all up here for your viewing (dis)pleasure? ...Because everyone else was doing it, and I felt left out. Shush.

One last warning: My mind is a frightening place. Be scared. Be very scared.


	2. The One With the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mirror:
> 
> One day Dumbledore made Harry look into a mirror that had a really corny name. And then all hell broke loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempt at that old Soul Mate Mirror challenge that was floating around ~~a few~~ many years ago. Attempt being the key word.
> 
> Actually, this could probably stand alone as a drabble, now that I think about it.

Harry stared. Dumbledore grinned. Ron gaped. Hermione blinked. Sirius, Remus, Severus, and James cackled. Lucius and Draco Malfoy smirked. Lily tried to tune everyone else out.

Harry shook his head and sat down, legs and arms crossed.

"...Let me get this strait...," Harry started slowly. "He," he pointed to Snape, "is my real father and father is not my father but my mother. My mother is really not my mother and in essence I'm not related to her at all and through that I'm not related to Petunia, or in that matter Dudley."

"So far so good," Dumbledore said genially, smiling like only the truly insane could. Harry nodded and frowned thoughtfully.

"And to further confuse things, Mum and Dad are alive, Dad and Professor Snape are married, Mum is married to Sirius, and Remus is going out with Lucius, but I already knew that because one, no one knows how to keep a secret, and two, if you had walked in on them snogging you'd have come up with that conclusion too." Remus pouted and Lucius kept on smirking.

"That's correct as well, Harry." Dumbledore nodded benignly and went on to fascinate himself with a lemon drop. "Continue on." Harry frowned thoughtfully again, this time at a really gaudy looking gold mirror.

"Now you want me look into that mirror but you won't tell me why even though I've already guessed it because of the really long and really stupid name for it, which just happens to be The Shiny Glass Thinger That Reflects More Thingers But Not the Actual Thinger in Front of it and Shows the Original Thinger Another Thinger Which is Coincidentally the First Thinger's Soulmate ... Thinger." Dumbledore smiled brilliantly.

"Exactly! Any questions?" Harry paused.

"…so WHY was I sent to the Dursley's?"

There was absolute silence.


	3. The One With the Love Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Correspondence: A Romance in Four Parts:
> 
> "My Dearest Severus: Go to hell. Love, Harry." A tentative friendship that began through owl post slowly evolves into something… more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write a four-part Snarry story written only in letters, but I couldn't figure out how to go about doing so. The four parts were to be titled: (1) Tentative, (2) Burgeoning, (3) Playful, and (4) Amorous, and then an epilogue. I had the epilogue written before I even started the story, but as you can tell, I never did finish the story. Included in this one are the five letters I wrote for chapter one, plus the one letter I wrote for the epilogue. You can take the ending as either implied mpreg or adoption, whichever one suits your tastes more.

**Tentative**

**-**

Dear Professor Snape,

I know you must be shocked to be hearing from me. I'm surprised I'm writing to you myself. I hope you're actually reading this, however I wouldn't be in the least bit surprised if you had looked at the signature and thrown this letter into the fire.

At any rate, I hope you're sitting down as you read this next part so you don't keel over from shock. I'll get it out quickly so you can recover and have a proper gloat.

I need your help. That's right, I, Harry Potter, bane of your existence, need your help. I'd tell you not to laugh, but frankly, Sir, I've never heard you do so.

You probably know that I'm currently situated in St. Mungo's Mystery Ailments Ward. About a week ago we admitted a man with unusual symptoms. It wasn't anything we'd seen before and we couldn't find anything in the texts here at the hospital.

I did some outside research and found something that may be the cause. There's a list of symptoms on the second parchment and I was hoping you could give me a second opinion. I want to be absolutely certain about it before I brought out the bezoars, but it's the closest any of us have come to figuring it out.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Cordially,  
 _Harry Potter_

* * *

 

MW. H. Potter,

I don't know what in the seven hells made you think I was anything close to a trained Medi-Wizard. Fortunately for you, you had a moment of intelligence. A rarity indeed. To assume that I had any knowledge of your activities after and outside of Hogwarts is entirely bigheaded of you. I applaud your redundancy.

I do recognize the symptoms. It seems as though your patient is as much a fool as you are, perhaps even more so to have ingested such a potion. How he or someone else got their hands on it, much less the recipe is astounding in and of itself.

It is a little known poison called _Aegri Somnia_ that fell out of favor little more than a century ago. It induces Dementor-like dreams that slowly steal the strength of the imbiber until they loose all strength to do much more than starve to death. Whoever gave it to him either held a nasty grudge, was very patient, or both.

The Dark forces found it too slow to use often, others felt it too easily cured. Although a highly potent and dangerous potion due to unfamiliar and general symptoms, its cure is inanely easy. A tablespoon of powdered bezoar in two cups carbonated water is all your patient needs to recover. He'll suffer from stomach cramps and mild nausea for the next week, however he should find himself better rested.

Do remember to warn him of the side effects, although I find it entirely possible that you would screw up even the simplest of tasks.

Severus Snape  
Deputy Headmaster, Head of Slytherin House, Potions Master  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

* * *

 

Professor S. Snape,

Need I remind you that I am a fully trained and certified Medi-Wizard and have been such for the past eight years. I know very much the side effects of the cures and medicines I give my patients and have not yet failed to warn any of them due to neglect. That one time was due entirely to vindictiveness and I've apologized already. Several times, in fact.

Nevertheless, I appreciate your assistance in this matter. I, and my patient, thank you. Should I need your assistance again (Merlin forbid) I hope I can call upon your expertise again.

Harry Potter  
Senior Medi-Wizard, Healer First Class  
Mystery Ailments Ward, St. Mungo's

* * *

 

Potter,

Your humor astounds me, truly. That you could think for even a moment that I would deign to help you set aside your pitiful concerns says little for your intelligence. That you managed to secure a position as Senior Medi-Wizard needing any such regular assistance from an uncertified Healer is astonishing in the very least. Rest assured this is a one time occurrence.

Although I should not be so surprised, I suppose. Your mental cognizance is minimal at best. It is only natural that you would require my assistance and need to utilize my superior intellect.

However, should you require my assistance again, I ask that you refrain and go somewhere else.

Severus Snape

(P.S.: Your wit is astonishing, or rather your incredible lack of it.)

* * *

 

Professor Snape,

The sheer size of your ego is what is astonishing. This is the first I've needed assistance from a source outside my circle of peers and colleagues. I would be very much grateful should this never happen again. Knowing my luck, however, this is doubtful.

I managed to secure my position in much the way you have likely secured yours: through dedication and endless hours of hard work. Do not assume that I have "flaunted my fame" to get where I am today. That's not why I became a Healer, and would go against all the vows I have sworn as such. The fact that you automatically lump me into the same category as when I was a child proves to me that you carry nothing but stubborn bitterness and a refusal to get over the past. As a professional Healer, that is highly unhealthy.

The fact that you've managed to insult my intelligence in nearly every paragraph of your letters is actually something I find rather amusing. I distinctly remember you being able to do so every sentence in my younger years. Have you found yourself running out of petrol, Professor? Please say it isn't so, I would **so** hate to see the day Severus Snape ran out of insults.

Harry Potter

(P.S.: And may it astonish forever.)

* * *

 

**_Epilogue: Letters Home_ **

Dear Hermione,

Barcelona is absolutely gorgeous this time of year. Severus won't admit it, but he agrees with me. He keeps saying how relieved he is to finally be away from Hogwarts and I quote, "all of the snot-nosed pests running around attempting to make each of my days more horrible than the last." I can tell he doesn't really mean it, though. He's adorable when he frets, but don't tell him I said that.

I'm sending along a few trinkets I found in a Muggle-Wizard tourist shop. I know what you're thinking, "But Harry, it's your honeymoon! You should be enjoying it with Severus!" Trust me, Hermione, I'm enjoying myself very much, or should I say I'm enjoying _him_ very much. Don't blush, you know you like the details. That's all you're getting from me though, lucky you. Anyway, I hope you like the things I've sent. Could you pass them around for me?

It's amazing how open the Muggles and Wizards are here. There are so many mixed stores and restaurants that I could barely get over my shock when we finally decided to leave the hotel room. (Oh, all right, I'll stop. Prude.) I guess the Statute of Secrecy doesn't apply all that much here. Severus scoffs at me whenever I tell him this, as though I should have known all along. Right. Sure, Sev, whatever you say.

One of these days I'm going to drag you and Ron out here and show you all of the things I've found. I've found a lovely little bookshop I know you'll just adore and a Quidditch Supply shop Ron will go nuts over. Apparently Barcelona is a huge Cannons supporter. Let him stew over that for a while.

I've got to wrap this up now. Severus is taking me out, but he won't tell me where. He says it's a surprise. Give my love to the kids and let me know how they like their gifts.

Speaking of kids, Hermione, I've got to talk to you when we get back.

Love From Barcelona,  
Harry

(P.S.: It's a boy!)


	4. The One That Was to be a Blatant Self-Fulfilment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Second Glance:
> 
> In 1995, Harry Potter disappeared from the world of magic. Twenty years later, he returns – as one of the richest and most powerful men on three continents. What's become of our hero?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was was going to be my self-fulfilment SI fic. I think I started it way back in '01, but I'm not sure. It started as a het fic, then I found it about '06-ish and decided to turn it into a slash fic, but I'm not to sure with the dates. I do know that I started this before I grew bored with the monotonous repetitions I found in het fics and switched over to slash. (Now I don't really care what I read so long as it's interesting and well-written.) During it's conception leading to it's coma, I changed it several times. This is the true, original, uncut, and un-edited version of the plunnie. Below it are the notes I wrote that were supposed to be used to change it.

People took a first glance then quickly looked back to see if their eyes had not been deceiving them. Then they stared as they realized that, no, they were not going crazy. Unfortunately.

What they were looking at, or perhaps _who_ , ignored them completely as they continued along. A small five-year-old girl followed swiftly behind them, clutching the sleeve of her father's expensive, leather muggle jacket.

"Damnit Jaques!" Harry Potter scowled, looking at nothing in particular as he hurried along- talking into a small, silver, muggle cell phone. "I don't care! We need those documents, and don't you dare- I told you, they're in the file marked JP-11! I thought you knew how to work a damned computer? … What do you mean there's something wrong with the computer?! I built it!" Harry paused for a moment to pull his daughter away from a tray of disgusting-smelling dragon livers ("Only thirteen sickles an ounce!")

"Don't touch those, Dria," he said in a softer voice. Then he scowled again. "Of course I wasn't talking to you, you idiot! Oh, hello Julia. Yes, he lost the files again. I know Dad needs them, that's what I've been trying to tell this incompetent- Dria! No! Leave the- Damnit Jaques, just **open the damned file**!"

He most likely didn't notice people parting for him, staring in shock at his attire- dark blue jeans, a white dress shirt, blue tie, and a black leather jacket, as well as black boots. He looked as though he worked out, with his slim but athletic build. A black helmet with a fire design was slung over his left shoulder, and he was yelling into a phone on his right, while keeping a tight hold on his curious daughter's hand. His black hair was cropped and spiked, and his expressive green eyes were framed by thin silver glasses.

In short: he looked _hot_.

He jogged up the marble Gringotts steps, his daughter now slung over his left shoulder and laughing shrilly in exuberance, the helmet clutch tightly in her hands.

"Hun, would you- thank you." He let his wife take over at yelling at his French secretary and nodded respectfully at the goblin staring at him from the counter.

He put his daughter down and reached into his pocket, taking out a small black box, which expanded almost immediately to a rather thick briefcase.

"I'd like a currency exchange, please. Half into British pounds, half into wizard currency." The goblin nodded, saying nothing as he eyed him.

Harry set down his phone and grabbed his daughter before she ran off to peer into a door that had just opened. Her greenish blue eyes sparkled.

"Daddy, can we get some ice cream?"

"Sure, love," he said absently, picking up his phone to listen into it for a moment before nodding and hanging it up.

"Can we go to the zoo?"

"Sure."

"And the mall?"

"Wherever you want."

"Can I get an owl?"

"When you're eleven." She pouted as the goblin came back, carrying two sacks. One jingled loudly. Harry placed a weightless charm on the sack containing his wizard money and shrunk it, placing it in his jeans pocket. The other he riffled through before nodding at the goblin again.

"Good day."

Harry left the bank and made his way to the ice cream shop a few streets down, Alexandria bouncing excitedly all the way. He ordered chocolate cone with a cherry on top for Alexandria and a vanilla for himself.

After the treat, they left back to the Leaky Cauldron to reserve the parlor for dinner and then to Muggle London, where a shiny, black motorcycle waited for them. Harry buckled Alexandria into the her custom-made seat and helmet and got on himself. After revving the motor, he took off down the street.

Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at Irish West, the hotel he had reserved a room in. He nodded to the doorman and went inside, Alexandria laughing and waving back at him from over Harry's shoulder.

He keyed open the door to Suite Thirteen and set his daughter down, standing up, on the plush couch. He threw his helmet absentmindedly on a chair and ran a hand through his hair, untying his tie. He went into the next room, where his wife sat at an oak desk, typing at a laptop and yelling into an earpeice at the same time.

"Jaques, we've been through this before. Go to desktop. Then to folders. Then to Affiliates. It's called JP-11. OPEN IT!" She scowled at the screen then looked up and smiled at Harry, eyes brightening. "Harry, where did you get this guy? I swear—Yes, _that_ one. Now print it out." Harry shook his head.

"You know Jaques. He loves doing this. It's his job." Julia raised an eyebrow.

"What, getting yelled at every five minutes?-Jaques? Have you printed it out? Yes? Then fax it to five-five-seven-four-three-seven-six-eight-two-one. Got that? Good. Fax it. Then finish the Van Dortmen document." She sighed as she took off the earpeice, shaking her head. Then she turned to Harry, smiling.

"So? How was your day?" Harry laughed and leaned down for a kiss.

"Well, we went bar hopping, then clubbing, then had a dandy time checking out the ladies." Julia scoffed and slapped his arm.

"Harry!" Harry tried to look innocent.

"What? You know my one true love is Dria." She shook her head again, laughing.

"I swear, Harry, you're as troublesome as Jaques!"

"Well, I try," he said with a long-suffering sigh. Julia opened her mouth to say something, but just at that moment, a phone rang. Simultaneously, Harry reached for his cell and Julia reached for her headset.

"Dad?" they said at the same time. Harry put his cell down as Julia started talking animatedly.

"Hi, Dad! Oh, we're doing just fine, thanks. Dria? Oh, she's just wonderful, and she just looks absolutely adorable in that yellow dress Mom sent. Did you get the document? You did? Good, that means Jaques actually did something right. I swear, why Harry puts up with that man…"

Laughing, Harry went into the other room, smiling at Dria who was watching a cartoon. A hoot directed his attention towards the windowsill, where his ever-faithful owl perched.

"Afternoon, Hedwig." He fondly stroked her head. Hedwig hooted softly, affectionately nipping at Harry's fingers. Harry untied the letter from her leg and she flew off to her cage to get a drink of water. Harry glanced at the seal, grinned, and tore it open.

_Emerald-_

_I have heard from reliable sources that you have returned to this part of the world. I am glad you decided to come home. Here's to hoping that you plan on staying. I have also heard, again from very reliable sources, that you have brought your family with you. Ruby is still sore from your leaving and blames you for the fact that she is now responsible for Opal. But she is willing to forgive you if you bring your little one for a visit._

_I hope this letter reaches you swiftly. Do an old man a favor and come by._

_Topaz_

Harry shook his head and wrote a swift reply.

_Topaz_

_You aren't old and you know it. Tell Ruby to stop complaining and that Opal was always her problem. I'd love for the three of you to meet my wife and daughter. Come to the Leaky Cauldron at six, we'll make it a dinner date._

_Emerald_

_(P.S.: If your reliable sources are who I think they are, you better find a place to hide them from me.)_

Harry turned to Hedwig, who was already waiting with her leg held out. Harry stroked her feathers and tied the letter on.

"You know who that goes to," Harry said. Hedwig hooted and took off out the window. Harry walked into the next room, where Julia was busy typing at the her laptop. She smiled up at him.

"I take it we're having dinner guests," she said pausing. Harry shook his head.

"You know, I should be used to that, but it still surprises me." Julia laughed.

"Harry, I know you. You're always inviting _someone_ out to dinner." Harry opened his mouth to respond when Alexandria ran into the room.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" Harry caught her and lifted her up.

"Yes, munchkin?" She giggled.

"Guess what, Daddy? Duskmon is actually Ko-Ko," she struggled with the name for a moment, "Koichi, and he's Kouji's twin brother, and Takuya said that if Kouji didn't save him then who would? and he has a brother too!, and then Chubbymon showeded up, and he kicked the train Daddy!, now that wasn't very nice at all, and then Koichi turned into a _new_ digimon and got rid of Chubbymon but Chubbymon wasn't really gone!, and now they have to go to the star thingy to save that other lady digimon and Chubbymon said he was going to be there and they have to stop him and save her, Daddy!" She said this all in one breath and when she finished she bounced in his arms excitedly, eyes bright.

"Why, that is so very, very interesting, poptart. So who was who's brother again?"

-

Harry nodded to Tom the barkeep as he passed, Julia looking around in interest and Alexandria cheerfully greeting everyone they passed. Tom came from behind the bar, wiping his hands on a towel attached to his belt. He was smiling his toothless grin at them, eyes bright.

"This way, Mister and Missus Potter," he said, eyes shining. He showed them into the parlor Harry had reserved earlier that day, table set for six.

Only, there were already three people sitting at it. One of them squealed and nearly toppled her chair getting up from it.

"Emerald!" Harry had to take a step back to brace himself as a girl flung herself about his waist.

"Ruby, doll, I'd love to be able to breathe," Harry said, laughing lightly. The girl blushed and let go of him, but her eyes still sparkled in excitement.

She was fairly short with shockingly red hair, tanned skin, and onyx eyes. She wore a gauzy white dress with silver swirl patterns and black boots. Around her waist was a black belt holding two pouches, a sheath, and a small flute attached to a cord.

"You don't know _what_ you've missed!" Ruby said, black eyes glinting. Harry laughed.

"And I'm sure I don't want to know. Especially if it involves you, a water balloon, and shaving cream." Ruby pouted.

"Darn. And here I thought you enjoyed that 'shower'." Harry shook his head, grinning.

"Well, before I forget my manners, I'd like to introduce you to Julia, my wife, and my daughter Alexandria." Julia smiled kindly at the three. Ruby bowed to her and Alexandria, the other two standing and doing the same.

"An honor to meet you both," said an elderly man. A gnarled staff was held in his weathered hands, dark blue robes flowing around him. His hair was white and just passed his shoulders and his blue eyes like water were unnaturally bright.

The third person, a small girl of about fifteen, stood silently behind them with her hands clasped behind her back. Her hair was jet-black with green tints, also very tanned, and she wore what looked almost like a uniform from a posh private school. Her eyes held all colors and no color at once.

Harry continued, "Julia, I'd like you to meet Ruby, an old friend of mine, her student, Opal, and my esteemed Master Topaz." Julia bowed back to them all, smiling.

"An honor to meet you as well," she said. Then she looked reprovingly at Harry. "And Harry, why didn't you tell me they were Elves?" Ruby and Opal stared at her in open astonishment, but Topaz didn't even blink. Harry did his best to look innocent.

"How did you know?" Opal said, speaking up for the first time. Julia smiled.

"I may not be a witch, but I inherited a power known as Manipulation from my mother." Topaz nodded wisely and Ruby only widened her mouth into an 'O', a look of comprehension dawning her features.

* * *

 

**Ver. 2.2 Notes**

At Second Glance (Sequel to At First Glance)  
At First Glance- Harry's life from July 1995 to 2006

-training from Mages  
-defeating Voldemort  
-leaving the wizarding world  
-going to America  
-going "bad"  
-going "good"  
-going to college  
-meeting his soon to be ex-wife Julia Katherine Lendronson (sandy brown hair, blue-grey eyes)  
-rising up the ladder of business tycoons until owning the Lendronson and Potter Corp.  
(-a computer software/hardware/electronics corporation)  
-birth of his daughter, Alexandria Lillian Potter  
-raising his daughter  
to  
-returning to the wizarding world

**Slash Version**

Harry met a guy (Jason Lendronson) in the States who helped him find work and heal from the war he had just won. They fell in love and started Pendron Inc. after college in the Muggle world (which, years later, expands into the wizarding world as he researches and finds ways to bring Muggle appliances into Wizarding places (CD players, television, etc.). Harry has to reveal his past to him when he gets pregnant; as it turns out, Jason had been agonizing over how to tell Harry that _he_ was a wizard, and so was the rest of his family. Months before their daughter (Sarah Lendronson-Potter) was born he (Jason) dies during a robbery at a small, late-night grocery store. Harry blames himself for his husband's death, thinking that if he hadn't sent him to pick up something so trivial as mint ice cream he'd still be alive. He gets through it with the help of his friends and family-in-law and finds himself thrown back into wizard London while he's there on a business trip for his company to unveil the newest magic-adapted Muggle technology.

OR Jason could have gone toward law enforcement while Harry works with his father in the electronics industry.

OR instead of dieing, Jason is put into a coma and Harry moves from electronics to medicine.

OR Jason doesn't die.

Sarah is born December 24. Jason dies October 31.

_"I hate Halloween. Something bad always happens to me or my family on Halloween."_

_"Come on, it can't be that bad. Maybe you're just exaggerating."_

_"Exaggerating? How's this for exaggerating: October 31st, 1980, my parents are murdered and I'm named the next hapless hero. October 31st, 1991, one of my old friends was nearly flattened by a troll's club. Same day, 1992, I'm accused of murdering a cat. In 1994, I'm thrown into a competition I never entered in order to bring back a megalomaniac with serious mental issues. In 1996 some lunatic nearly flattens me in a car. October 31st, 2006, my husband dies during a robbery. Need I go on?"_

_"…No, I think I've got the picture."_


	5. The One With Goddess!Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be Forever Mine: 
> 
> AU. Due to an accidental spell, Blaise somehow calls down a goddess from heaven who grants him one wish. Skeptical, mainly because his "goddess" happens to be a boy named Harry, Blaise wishes him to stay at his side forever. Then things get weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a story I started for Kay (Kamerreon) and Mandy's (Bittersweet Alias) Slytherin Challenge a _looong_ while back, but it never went anywhere. (Obviously.) The idea came from a marathon of Ah! My Goddess. I have more notes and a small bit of dialogue than what's written here, but I didn't feel the need to include them. Damnit, I had plans for this thing. **Plans.** *goes after Writer's Block with a pitchfork and nitroglycerin*

Summer... was boring.

Blaise sighed, uncharacteristically slumped over the dining room table, chin cupped in one hand while the other flicked the peas from his lunch's stir fry across the room. Normally, he would never engage in such plebian behavior. Well, at least not where anyone could see him, anyway. However, on this particular day he was extremely, utterly, and irrefutably _bored_.

_'Mother's on another world cruise to search for her next husband. Theodore is visiting family in Russia. Draco's in Bali. Even the gardener has the week off.'_ Blaise scowled and flicked another pea. He didn't bother to look up at the faint squelching sound as the small green vegetable hit one of the priceless vases on the buffet and splattered across its surface.

Briefly, he wished he'd taken Draco up on his offer to join him for the summer. Then he remembered his best friend's tendency to dress in Speedos to attract swarms of hormone-driven, lusty girls in too-small bikinis and shuddered. He was _not_ going to repeat _last_ summer's fiasco, no matter _how_ bored he got. He was lucky to escape that horror without being traumatized as it was. The girls he could put up with, but _Draco_... in a _G-string_... Ugh. He was gay, not desperate, no matter _how_ hot the vain git was.

He growled and let his head fall to the table.

Four weeks of grueling, relentless boredom. Four weeks until his last year at Hogwarts started. Only one homework essay left to complete, a ridiculously easy six inch report on the Goblin war of 1812 for History. He could write the thing in his sleep.

He sighed again and stood, leaving his dishes for the house elves to bother with. There was no hope for it. He'd have to go write the damned thing. It was something to do for the moment, and he could always figure out what to do with the rest of his time in the interim.

If only he had some good-looking, intelligent company to spend time with, maybe he wouldn't be so bored. At this point he'd settle for some semi-brain dead eye candy. Only semi, no use making himself even _more_ bored than he already was.

With a grumble, he set off toward the library.

The essay only took him half an hour. While at least it was out of the way, he wished it had taken a bit longer than that because now he was bored again. He looked up from the tabletop, sending a blank stare around the confines of the large, sunlit library and stood to find something to read to pass the time.

He ambled past his usual haunts toward the darker section of the library. Hardly anyone went there but house elves, as was evident by the immaculate, dust-free bindings on the shelves. Most of these books looked brand new, never touched by human hands. It made sense. Only two of his numerous step-fathers had ever cared for reading. The rest preferred to grace his mother's bed, and there was hardly use for a book then.

Absently, he let his finger roam across the spines of leather and other various animal skins that bound the ageless tomes upon the shelves, barely giving any a second glance. Near the end of the third row, a glimmer caught his eye. Curiosity piqued, he walked forward and peered into the gloom of the setting sun.

_'The Goddess System. I've never heard of it. Did Mother buy non-fiction novels on her last trip?'_ Now that was a laughable thought. Like his mother would buy a book and actually _read_ it. He pulled the book off the shelf and opened it. There was no table of contents so he flipped through the pages randomly. A colourful picture caught his attention and he stopped, reading the caption beneath.

_Yuria, Goddess First Class, renowned for her beauty and gentle heart._ She was rather beautiful, he admitted musingly. Intrigued, he read further, settling himself on a nearby armchair.

_Yuria Ezelwaithe, the Lord's most favored of goddesses, was the sole creator and founder of the Goddess System. Through her hard work and dedication, the Goddess System was quickly integrated into the Goddess Network and became the single most efficient way for future goddesses to continue their work. Before her System, the Goddess Network was largely unorganized and difficult to manage, making it hard for goddesses to keep track of their contracts and duties. Goddesses across the universe flocked to her for guidance and support, and soon after the Goddess System went online she went to work creating the God System, which further streamlined the Network and allowed for her fellow goddesses to work on creating other ways to make the Network more efficient for all. In this way, the Goddess Call System was born._

_Her programs paved the way for the advancement of all and it was for this reason she was named in the Goddess Hall of Enlightenment after her time. Few goddesses have been able to reach her level of notoriety and ingenuity since, though occasionally there are the goddesses who stand out among the rest as prodigies to the illustrious title of goddess._

Blaise snorted. What fanciful drivel. Amusing, to be sure, but utter nonsense. Further reading showed that the entire book was written like this, as though the book were meant to be taken as fact and not a fantasy novel. Though it was strange; he wouldn't have expected his library to hold such a book. His family was largely of Ravenclaw decent. The Zabini's prided their knowledge above all else, as was proven by their motto: in scientia dolosus; in wisdom, cunning.

He twirled his wand in his hand and continued reading. It may be drivel, but it was amusing drivel. It gave him something to do, at any rate.

He got through a good portion of the book by dinner. He took the book with him to the table, ignoring the disapproving looks from the portraits in the hall. He was still reading as he sat down and the house elves bustled around him, setting up his plates and silverware.

"The Goddess Call System," he muttered, sipping his wine. "It mentioned that earlier. 'Humans who are deemed worthy by the Goddess Network have the ability to call a goddess down from the heavens to be granted one wish. The wish could be anything, from endless riches to the destruction of the earth; however, those with such desires as chaos and corruption are not usually ones who are able to access the Network. There have been only three cases of destructive wishes and in each instance the Goddess Contract was quickly negated and the wisher banished to hell.' Interesting. What would be the point of destroying the world anyway?" He speared an asparagus stalk on the end of his fork and took a bite, leaning back in his chair to continue reading.

"'To call a goddess, a mortal has three options. The most common way is to send a prayer to the goddess. Because millions do every minute, the prayer system is jammed and frequently prayers are lost or misinterpreted. A second option is for mortals to call the Goddess Help Hotline, though this is only used for mortals who are specifically chosen to be the receiver of a wish due to an extreme interference of Fate.' What the bloody hell is a hotline? 'The last option is a spell, though the percentage of it taking is determined by the Goddess Network's Ultimate Force which is the power behind the System.'" Blaise frowned at the supposed 'spell' embolden at the bottom of the page. "That doesn't even _look_ like a real spell," he grumbled. "I mean, really. ' _Skor tel'gih gossma inbezinaph'?_ What kind of spell is that?"

The table began to shake.

_'...Maybe I spoke too soon.'_

One of Blaise's secret pet peeves just happened to be his mother's addiction to lotus flowers. Every room in the house had at minimum four large gold basins of water in which her flowers grew and bloomed. And by every room, he meant every room but his, as it was something he wouldn't stand for. To make up for this, however, there were basins in the bathrooms, in the library (behind containment spells, naturally), in the kitchens, in the ballroom, and in both dining rooms.

One such basin was in the center of the table. It was his mother's favorite, but to him it was a gaudy eyesore. Pure gold with elaborate scrollwork and clawed feet, the monstrosity took up enough space that were the table to be full of people there would be a wide gap between one half and the next.

And right now it was glowing. Or rather, the water within it was glowing.


	6. The Magical Non-Magical AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bewizard:
> 
> Idea from Bewitched. Harry Potter has vowed to give up wizardry for the simple life of a mortal. His family and friends aren't going to make it easy for him, especially when he falls in love with one. Poor Draco; he has no idea what he's got himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've included all my notes for this one, not that there are many because most of them are in my head. I was going to make it just one long one-shot or (depending on how long it got) divide it in half. But I could never get it going, so... well, now it's gathering proverbial dust in my story files.

**Notes**

**Wizards:**  
Harry (Full Name: Ashlius Dwennon Zacharias Michelangelo Gordon Ophelion Norbert Harridarmus Justinius Lindley Cuthbert Oglseby Potter, XXII)  
James  
Lily  
Tom Riddle (Uncle) [Not (Completely) Evil]  
Blacks (Sirius, Regulus, Bellatrix, Andromeda, Tonks)  
Weasleys (Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny)  
Seamus  
Neville  
Luna

**Mortals:**  
Draco  
Lucius  
Narcissa  
Severus (Godfather)  
Remus  
Hermione  
Blaise  
Pansy  
Dursleys (Vernon, Petunia, Dudley)  
Dean  
Terry  
Lavender  
Parvati/Padme

**Pairing(s):** Harry/Draco, Lily/James, Lucius/Narcissa, Sirius/Remus, Blaise/Hermione, Ron/Pansy, Seamus/Neville, Tom/Severus, Ginny/Luna, Dean/Lavender, Terry/Parvati

Scene insert:

"Draco… I'm a wizard."

"You know, when you told me you weren't like other people, you didn't mention you were insane."

"I am _not_ insane."

"Wave your… your wand, or something, and prove it to me then."

" _Wand_? What kind of books have you been _reading_? Wands. Seriously."

* * *

 

**Bewizard**

There are some things in life you don't question. Politicians are blood-thirsty parasites, technology gets smaller and more powerful every day, and children have a large aptitude for imagination (a.k.a., bullshitting). It's these types of constants that make everything okay after an encounter with something a bit more out of the ordinary than people are used to dealing with. Of course, in situations such as those, people are more likely to think it nothing more than a hallucination or a dream and completely forget about it over their favorite drink and perhaps a slice of pie.

Which is exactly why there was very little fuss when a young man appeared from absolutely nothing in the middle of the sidewalk, where just moments before there had been nothing but an old gum wrapper where he now stood. In fact, the only thing that really cared about his sudden appearance from thin air was the gum wrapper, as he had appeared right on top of it.

Looking at this young man, you would think him an average, if somewhat confused, twenty-something-year-old with the brightest pair of green eyes you had ever seen framed by an expensive pair of glasses. He wore ordinary, if not fashionable clothes, had strikingly messy black hair, and was rather handsome with his slightly tanned skin and sleek stature. You would not think him strange or unusual, just a bit lost.

And lost was exactly what he was.

With a furrow of his brow, the young man looked down at the small white paper in his hand and then looked up searching for a street sign. He frowned when he did not recognize the name of the street and once more looked down at his paper. If anyone had bothered to take a look at the paper, they would have noticed that it, unlike the man, _was_ rather unusual. At first glance it looked like a normal map. At a second and longer look, they would have noticed that there were arrows moving across the page, street lines that kept changing color, and three large words in thick red ink above an equally bold arrow stating, 'You're Not Here'.

"Bother," muttered the man. Looking a little irritated, he shoved the map into a pocket and began walking down the street.

His name was Harry Potter. It wasn't his full name, as his full name was long enough to give someone a coronary writing it down, but it was good enough. In fact, Harry wasn't even his first name, it was one of his many middle names… sort of. It was actually only part of his middle name, really, but he could only stomach it shortened and it also happened to be the most common name he could think of that wasn't completely boring, like Bob, Dick, or Adam. (None of which could actually be found in his name, and therefore would be just silly.) He had chosen to go by 'Harry' since he was a little boy, however, for two reasons: One, he absolutely hated his true first name, and two, it drove his father spare.

So he kept it that way, because after all, pissing off his father was his favorite pastime.

Despite the fact that he looked nearly identical to his father, the two of them were as different as night and day. His father was carefree, a bit wild, and found great pride in what he was to the point of being, bluntly, a stuck-up jerk. Harry, however, was rather sensible, extremely kindhearted, and rather selfless – taking after his mother. Although he liked his life, for the most part, he found it completely and utterly boring. The fact that Harry found little pride in being a Potter Heir, a name which had carried prestige, power and wealth for thousands of years, was appalling to his father. It was something they had had a great many arguments about, which caused his mother no small amount of stress.

"You're a _Potter_ , Harry!" his father often exclaimed. "You could do anything you wanted and no one would dare say a word against it simply because you are."

"Which is exactly the problem," Harry would always answer. "I'd rather earn my reputation than have it handed down to me because of a matter of birth."

This, of course, would start his father on yet another rant of respecting the family name, being proud of the esteem others held him in, living life to the fullest, etcetera, etcetera. During which, of course, Harry would simply tune him out for a while and then wander out of the room, much to his father's consternation at being ignored by his son yet again.

"Stubborn as a graphorn, just like his father," his mother would sigh mournfully, to which everyone else would either solemnly agree or roll their eyes.

Despite their many arguments however, father and son did love each other very much. This was an unquestionable truth, despite the fact that they annoyed each other to hell and back. James was as proud of his son as he was flabbergasted at Harry's blasé attitude towards his lineage. His son confused him, sometimes, and he often wondered where Harry had gotten all of it from. Then all James would have to do is walk by a room, see his son staring awestruck into a crystal ball, and sigh in exasperation.

He blamed it on the mortals.

Before I continue, perhaps I should explain. Harry, just like the rest of his family, were Wizards. Wizards were among the most powerful beings in the Realm of Magic, right along side the Warlocks and the oldest of dragons. They lived for a long time, in some cases as long as ten thousand years. Their bodies aged slowly, giving them an almost eternally youthful look, and their magic was fascinating to behold. As one of the oldest Wizard bloodlines, the Potters held quite a bit of magic, more powerful than most. But the Magic Realm was not the only one. Right alongside them was the Mortal Realm.

Ever since Harry had discovered that there was a world apart from theirs where magic did not exist, he had been fascinated by the people who lived there. He had spent most of his time learning about mortals, reading about their history and behaviors. He found much of what they do amusing, if not a bit perplexing. He had always wondered what it would be like to live as a mortal, and one day came to a decision that absolutely horrified his father.

He went to his parents and said, in no uncertain terms, "I'm giving up magic and moving to the Mortal Realm." There was nothing his parents could do to persuade him otherwise and not long after that, he left.

Which brings us back to Harry wandering up a street completely and utterly lost. He began to slightly regret making such a hasty decision to get there on his own, instead of taking magical transportation to the house he had bought with his trust allowance, even if the cost had barely dented it. After all, just because he thought being a Potter was no big deal, it didn't mean he wasn't going to take advantage of having the money. However, there was no way he was going to go back, especially not after overhearing his father and his godfather making a bet on how long he would last before he came home. He was not going to give either of them the satisfaction of seeing him give up his "horrible idea to give up magic", and besides that, he didn't like quitting.

Even if he _was_ lost.

Ah, well. Might as well do some sightseeing along the way. He could always pick up a few mortal knickknacks, or maybe a map seeing as how his was being completely and utterly useless at the moment.

The paper crinkled in his pocket and Harry scowled in the general direction.

"You _are_ being completely useless right now, so don't even start. Instead of telling me where I _wasn't_ you could have told me where I _was,_ you know." The paper was sullenly silent, and Harry continued on, satisfied.

As he walked, he watched the people around him with blatant interest. Despite learning as much as he could about mortals, being up close was immensely more interesting than looking into his great-aunt-twice-removed's crystal ball. For the life of him, he could never remember her name, Sarah, or Sandra, or something of the like. Ah, well, her name didn't really matter, after all, since she was as batty as they came.

 

 


	7. The Bad First DarkFic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crimson Dawn:
> 
> Three years after Harry Potter disappears from the Triwizard Tournament, a figure cloaked in shadow returns to Hogwarts. But on who's side lies their loyalty?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My very first attempt at a "dark" fic, from mid-2000. I got this far, decided I hated it, and thought of other stuff. Raw and uncut version. Whenever I read it now, I cringe at how cliche and... awkward it is.
> 
> Probably doesn't help that I've never been into dark!fic... ever. So. There's that.

_He heard Voldemort's scream of fury at the same moment that he felt the jerk behind his navel that meant the Portkey had worked — it was speeding him away in a whirl of wind and color, and Cedric along with him... They were going back..."_

_Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter twenty-four, Pg. 669_

Prologue

They stared at the tablet, those eyes of gold. But even as they stared simple actions such as looking would not help them understand the meaning of the riddle before them. Several before had come and had yet to decipher it, but they stared anyway, drawn like moth to flame.

The tablet was old, centuries old. Vines clung to it in layers, forcing them to cut them away to be able to read the words carved upon it. It was stained with dried blood and stood upon a pedestal of cracked and crumbling marble.

But they could care less about what it looked like. It was the words that interested them.

_Moon and shadow, sky blood red_  
_Flowing freely like tears shed_  
_Cloak and dagger black as night_  
_Shall for dark or shall for light_  
_Prince of darkness make your stand_  
_Life or death lies in your hands_  
_Choose thee wisely or shall you wrought_  
_Upon this world destruction's draught_  
_One chance left and shall soon be gone  
_ _Triumph or fail on crimson dawn_

Chapter One

The usual din of the Great Hall was lower than normal. Although the start-of-term feast was on, no one felt like celebrating. There was none of the usual laughing and yelling as people caught each other up about their summer, nor any senseless bantering between housemates.

There was a sense of fear and anxiety hovering above them all. The reason for it was simple and could be summed up in two simple words: Lord Voldemort.

For the past two years since his resurrection, something horrible always happened on three pivotal dates; September first, October thirty-first, and June twenty-forth. Whether it was mass murder of an unsuspecting muggle town or surprise attack on a wary wizard village. Just last June it had been Hogsmeade that was the victim — a warning to Hogwarts.

They wondered what it would be this year, hoping that he would break his ritual just once — _just once_ — so they would not have to fear for their families. But of course not. Voldemort lived for fear and destruction and death. Why would he dent his ritual just to placate their silly fears?

And even if he did, the sight of the Great Hall depressed them even more. There hung black banners all year round, in memory of the children who had died, the families that had suffered. And, most of all, they were there for two persons in particular, gone for three long years: Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter.

When Harry and Cedric had disappeared from the Third Task maze, everyone was confused. Was this part of the task? Was it supposed to have happened? Where did they go?

Their question were answered not long later as a certain Mad-Eye Moody escaped from his imprisonment within his own trunk and revealed whom they all thought was the Defense teacher to be really Barty Crouch Junior, a Death Eater in league with Voldemort. The truth came out behind the two boy's disappearance.

Barty had cursed the goblet of fire and entered Harry into the tournament. He turned the Triwizard Cup into a portkey to take Harry, it's intended target, to where his Master, the Dark Lord Voldemort, was waiting for him as soon as the boy touched it... So that the Dark Lord could finally be rid of him...

But they both touched the Cup. And so both were taken.

When they finally learned where the Portkey's destination was, the Ministry sent Aurors to possibly help, but they all knew it would be too late. Much too late, and they were right. When they finally arrived, the last of the Death Eaters were Disapperating and the only person there was the cold, lifeless body of Cedric Diggory. And of Harry Potter...

All that was left was his wand, badly scorched, with a single feather showing itself through splintered wood…

And so they assumed he was dead. And with the knowledge of Voldemort's rise of terror, they had nothing left to do but hope that things would come to a positive end.

As the feast ended, Dumbledore stood. The usual twinkle had disappeared that night many years ago and age seemed to have caught up with him. But still he stood strong, he had to. Too many people depended on him for him to succumb to his own despair.

"May I welcome you all back for another year at Hogwarts," he began. "The usual start of term notices still stand, but I shall repeat them for those who might have forgotten. The forest on the school grounds is strictly forbidden to all students. Students must be inside of Hogwarts by six o'clock and into their Commons by seven. Any students caught wandering around after those times will be dealt with accordingly. As well, the new corridor off the entrance hall is forbidden and students who ignore this warning will be responsible for whatever unfortunate happening that may befall them.

"The Aurors stationed in the school would like it to be known that the eighth floor is still off limits to all students who do not have the required permission.

"I would like to remind you that no magic is to be used in the halls and Mr. Filch has added several new items to his list of things forbidden on school grounds. The list is in his office, should any like to know what they are." He gave them a jovial smile, but it did not reach his eyes.

"And now I would have liked to introduce our new Advance Dueling professor, but I'm afraid he wasn't able to make it tonight as he had other pressing matters to attend to. I will, however, be able to introduce him tomorrow evening.

"And now, off to bed!"

The students trickled slowly out of the hall to their respective houses, dreading the news that would arrive in the _Daily Prophet_ in the morning.

As owls flooded into the Hall the next morning, students were both relieved and saddened. Relieved because they would be spared the sorrow of losing a family member and saddened because it seemed Voldemort had indeed not broken his ritual. He had struck a school of magic in India and completely demolished it. There were no survivors to be accounted of.

No one cried. Their tears had been wrenched from them too often for them to be able to spare any for people they didn't know, however harsh that may sound. And so they began their day, weary and subdued.

By the time dinner arrived, the students were in a slightly better mood. As they entered the Great Hall for dinner and saw a new seat, and a new person sitting in that seat, at the head table, the previous night's speech was remembered.

And it was understandable that the students looked upon this new comer both suspiciously and warily as a black cloak hid their face from sight. Dumbledore stood and smiled in an attempt to relieve them though it did little good.

"May I introduce to you H'rasyn Damien, your new Advance Dueling professor." The man received no welcoming applause from anyone but the Headmaster.

And then he lowered his hood.

A shock of shoulder-length raven black hair streaked with blood red and pale silver framed a face paler than it should have been, as though it had never seen sunlight. Piercing gold eyes with silver cat-slit pupils and a red background instead of white stared evenly at them all from a handsome face despite its pallid, ivory look. Looking into those eyes made one feel decidedly uncomfortable and forced to look away lest their soul be bared for all to see. His face wore an expression of utter unconcern, hiding emotions even better than their witty Potions Master could ever hope to achieve, although there was a slight frown which showed off the tips of sharp, pearly whites.

The one word in everyone's mind was: _Vampire_.

But they were only half correct.

Dumbledore was once again speaking.

"Now, then. Do you have anything to say about yourself or your class, Professor?" Those strange, eerie eyes glanced over at him for a moment. But he spoke, sharp eyes roving over the students, voice soft as silk but as loud to them as if he had shouted.

"Pay attention and you won't die."

After that rather unusual statement students returned to their dinners discussing their new professor, glancing up at the head table every so often.

"He's obviously a vamp," said one girl haughtily at the Slytherin table. "I mean, look at those teeth."

"Look at his eyes!" remarked one of her friends.

"He's so pale," a Ravenclaw whispered.

"Think he's dangerous?" asked a Hufflepuff nervously.

"I don't know," answered his friend.

"Maybe he'll finish Snape off for us!" That came from the Gryffindor table. That received hisses from the table across from them and a glower from said Potions Master. The Gryffindor shrunk in his seat.

"Hey, Professor!" One brave, or perhaps foolish, seventh year student from Slytherin stood up, sneering disdainfully. No one hushed him. For three years the Slytherins had been able to get away with many things, for it was their presence, and Dumbledore's, that stayed Voldemort from attacking. Draco Malfoy smirked at a girl across from him and looked boldly at Professor Damien. "Are you a vampire?" The man stared unblinkingly at him with his crimson and gold eyes like a cat's. He tilted his head in a strange manner, as if he had never seen a boy before.

"Yes." The answer was simple and just as soft as before. Many people gasped, many more clapped hands over their mouths in shock, and Draco Malfoy looked smug. Professor Damien blinked finally, his cat-pupils dilating. "And no." Malfoy's superior smile faltered.

"What do you mean? You can't be both vampire and not!" The Malfoy heir demanded. The man looked unfazed and explained in his soft silky voice as though he were stating a simple fact that everyone should have known.

"A vampire is classified as a dark creature who roams by night killing innocent victims and drinking their life's fluid. They are immortal, the sun and wood and holy water is said to harm them, their nemesis is the werewolf, and their only powers are telepathy and a form flight, which is truly just weightlessness." He had the hall enraptured, including Malfoy.

"However, while I must drink blood, I am immortal, and I do share the power of telepathy, I do not kill innocent victims for my sustenance. I do not kill the innocent. I do not harm them. The sun does not harm me; put a piece of wood through my heart and it would be you whom shall perish; holy water, like the sun, has no effect; and I have met only a few werewolves I have wished to kill. My mind is far superior than a vampire's, my magic rivals any wizard's, and in a contest of brute strength only the Goliath could hope to win against me.

"I am a vampire, yes. But that is not all I am." Then he was silent, staring blankly at the glowing silver orb portrayed on the ceiling-sky.

"What are you, then?" Draco demanded. The man ignored him for a long while, the young man growing angrier every minute of ignorance. Then he turned back to him, eyes bearing slight annoyance.

"Do not ask me that again. I have killed for lesser insults, but as my presence here is merely a power tool, I have sworn not to unleash my temper. However… _tempting_ ," he sneered, "I find the situation calls for."


	8. The One With Time Travel and Werewolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark Moon Rising:
> 
> As the end of Harry's Fifth Year arrives, an accident in the Forbidden Forest causes him to have to deal with heavy consequences. So even as he's dealing with the aftermath of that, he learns that Voldemort will stop at nothing to destroy him. Even if it means tampering with time itself….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also an old one, started late 2002. It was a mix of two cliches: Werewofl!Harry and TimeTraveling!Harry. Not as bad as the last one, but still pretty iffy. It was supposed to be a Past!Remus/Harry fic.

Harry sighed, sinking blissfully into the thick velvet-covered armchair in front of the common room fire. He rubbed his eyes, thanking all his lucky stars singly and by name that he survived the OWLs. Nevermind Voldemort, those exams themselves would be enough to murder him.

Heavy, world-weary eyes stared into the merry, crackling flames, trying to forget what had happened only a few short months before. When the school was attacked…. When Voldemort nearly won…. When Ron-

' _No, don't think about him,'_ he reprimanded himself sternly. _'It's no good thinking about what can't be undone.'_

And yet, all he could do _was_ think about. How could he not? His best friend of five years- his _first_ friend- gone….

Ronald Weasley had turned to the dark side, right when Harry needed his support most. It had been such a shock to everyone, his family more so. And yet, it wasn't either. Ron had always wanted to show he was just as good as his brothers, just as good as Harry. He was so jealous of Harry's athletic skill, of his fame, and fortune. Ron _knew_ Harry hated the attention shown to him, but that only made Ron more bitter.

But when it came right down to it, Ron was good, in his heart. After all the grief, after all the scathing comments, Ron just wasn't made out to be an evil wizard. He had died to prove it.

By saving Harry's life.

Hermione didn't take the news very well. She had gone into hysterics, before ending up in a shock-caused coma. Another of his friends, gone.

So many…. So many people he had known, talked with, played Quidditch with, celebrated with, laughed with, fought with, even those who had taught him…. Too many had died.

Ron, Sibyl Trelawney, Professor Sinistra, Madam Hooch, Denis Creevy, Cho Chang, Terry Boot, Lee Jordan, Susan Bones, Parvati Patil…

Too damn many.

He sighed. _'Enough.'_ He stood and ascended the stairs to his dorm, pausing to look in on Colin, one of the last fourth years in Gryffindor. All that remained besides him were Ginny Weasley, Amanda Jenkins, and Robert Dutero. Gryffindor was, of course, the first tower targeted. Colin gave him a small smile, and Harry nodded back, not attempting to force one, then continued to his dorm.

Besides Ron, Hermione, and Parvati, no other Fifth Year had died or, in Hermione's case, were sent to St. Mungos, which Harry found both surprising and relieving. Since the attack, though, everyone in Gryffindor had grown much closer, like one large family, as their losses were much larger than any other house.

Out of the three hundred students that were in Gryffindor, less than half remained, having either been killed or sent away by their parents. Meal times were empty and quiet, and most took to eating in the common room, now hung with black banners and curtains.

Trying to ignore the empty bed next to his, Harry sat down on his coverlet. He looked out the window at the dark, overcast clouds, heavy with rain yet to be released. He closed his eyes.

When he woke, the moon, full and bright, was peeking just over the mountains. He sat up, rubbing his sleep-filled eyes and yawned. He descended into the common room, empty for once. He decided that they had decided to eat in the Great Hall tonight, in celebration of ending the OWLs. He waved goodbye to the Fat Lady and made his way towards the hall himself.

As he was walking down a large, spiraling staircase, he ran into Dumbledore, coming up.

"Ah, Harry," he said, smiling lightly. "Just the person I was hoping to see. I was wondering if you would do me a favor, my boy." Harry nodded. "Ah, good. Sylvia seems to have buried herself into her work again. I was hoping you would go fetch her for me. She should be in Greenhouse six, I believe."

"Of course, sir." He said goodbye and continued down the stairs, going in the opposite direction of the Great Hall. He pulled his robes tighter around him to ward off the chilliness of the night as he stepped outside.

He made his way toward the greenhouses, counting them off as he went past. He stopped at six, cautiously opening the door. There weren't any lights on.

"Professor Sprout?" No one answered him. " _Lumos_ ," he muttered, raising his wand high. The greenhouse was empty of human life. Confused, he left, wondering if he had miscounted.

He turned to leave before he heard a strange rustling sound. He turned, raising his wand, lighting up a few feet in front of him.

"Hello?" He took a hesitant step closer. Before he knew it, he had passed through the boundary of the Forbidden Forest. The rustling had stopped for a moment, then continued farther ahead. Like a fool, Harry followed.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but suddenly he realized that he should turn back. He turned, but behind him, trees blocked the way he came. In the natural way of the forest, it had changed, covering up his path. He cursed himself softly.

The rustling had changed direction, now growing closer to him. Harry took a step back nervously. There was a growl and something pounced on him from behind. All he remembered was a searing pain in his side, then nothing as darkness mercifully swallowed him.

He heard voices. The sounded so very far away. He struggled to reach them, and slowly he began to understand them.

"…this just had to happen…."

"…first the attack, and now…."

"…it's too soon, this will break him…."

"…it's good thing you're here, I'm sure he'll appreciate it…."

"…yes, he'll need you two, now especially….."

Harry moaned, shifting, as a sudden pain burned in his side, almost pulsing. The voices hushed, and he felt someone take his hand and squeeze it lightly.

"Harry?" The soft voice was close to him, and familiar. "Come on Harry, wake up now…" Harry opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the brightness that assaulted them. A face hovered just out of his vision, then was brought sharply into focus. Sirius looked down at him, concerned.

"What… happened?" Harry asked hoarsely, his voice scratchy from disuse. Sirius gave him a small, sympathetic smile.

"You were… found in the Forbidden Forest, unconscious. You were out for nearly a week." Harry frowned, knowing Sirius was keeping something from him.

"What happened?" he asked more forcefully.

"First tell us what you remember, Harry," Dumbledore said gently from his other side. Harry blinked, thinking.

"I went to get Professor Sprout for you and I… heard something, and got curious. It was stupid, I know, but I followed it and… I was in the forest, then… growling, pain, darkness…." He shook his head helplessly. "I don't remember much more." He trailed off. He could feel and smell pity coming from both his godfather and headmaster.

Wait…. Smell? He suddenly realized he wasn't wearing glasses, but everything was in sharp focus, sharper than they had ever been. He sat up so fast it startled the both of them, eyes wide. He turned to his godfather.

" _What happened?"_ he said urgently. Sirius shook his head grimly.

"Harry… I'm sorry…you were attacked by a… a werewolf…" Harry stared blindly at him, a hand moving unconsciously to touch his injured side. Almost reading his mind, Sirius nodded. "Yes, Harry. You were bitten."

Harry didn't say anything. Silently, he lay back down, staring without seeing at the white ceiling. He didn't register his godfather look at Dumbledore helplessly, nor Dumbledore shake his head and steer Sirius out of the room. Nor the room empty until it was only he and Remus.

"What did you do? After it happened?" Harry murmured, turning to look at Remus. Remus sighed.

"I didn't want to believe it. But after the… first transformation, I had no choice. I went into a sort of shock. Barely ate, barely slept. Then I accepted what happened, and attempted to move on.

"It was hard. Where we lived, there was a large fear of werewolves. I never had any friends, and I didn't try to make any. They were all scared of me. We had to move some time after. And then I was accepted at Hogwarts." He smiled softly, a faraway look in his eyes. "For the first time in my life, I had friends, great friends. They accepted me for who I was. You know what happened from then on." Harry didn't say anything.

"Harry, it won't be that bad. You were bitten by a natural werewolf, not an unnatural one. It's much different." Harry looked sharply at him.

"How?" Remus raised an eyebrow.

"For one, you will not be a danger to anyone during the full moon. The wolf mind will take over, yes," he said before Harry could protest, "but it will not feel the need to- to kill." Harry looked slightly relieved. Remus reached into a robe pocket and pulled out a book. "Here. Everything you will want to know is in here." Harry took the book gingerly.

"Thank you." Remus smiled gently.

"Don't worry, Harry. I'll be with you during your transformations. And Sirius will join us." Harry nodded, but didn't say anything. Remus left. Once he was gone, Harry opened the book and began to read.

It was actually very interesting. He learned that the transformation wasn't very painful itself. It only felt as if you were an animagus. He could also transform into a wolf not only on a full moon, but anytime he wished. He would also change when he was under strong emotions, such as a hot anger, or extreme sadness.

And then there was the heightened senses. Sight, hearing, smell, taste. He could feel another's energy, their aura. He would feel if it was tainted, or if it was pure.

Something that surprised him was the ability to smell emotion. How could you smell emotion? Nevertheless, he realized it was true. How else could he have smelt Dumbledore and Sirius's pity?

Madam Pomfrey found him in that position, curled up with the book in his lap. Harry had his eyes turned in her direction, even before she had stepped into the room. Used to it after years of dealing with Remus, she calmly walked over to the windows, closing the (white) drapes.

"Madam Pomfrey?" She turned, looking back into the room from the doorway.

"Yes, Harry?"

"About the Wolfsbane Potion…" She smiled sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm afraid you won't be able to take it. It doesn't work for those bitten by natural werewolves, nor in the first six transformations after the bite. It would act like a poison, and you would most likely die mid-transformation if you took it, even in six months." He nodded.

"I was just wondering." She gave him another smile, and left.

Yawning, he put a place holder in the book and closed it, setting it on the side table. He lay back, ignoring the dreamless-sleep potion, and fell asleep.

Sometime during the night, he had transformed into his wolf form, startling Madam Pomfrey when she came to check on him. She paused, blinking at him. His wolf head raised, looking at her questioningly.

"Wow," she breathed.

He was pure black. His green eyes were mere slits surrounded by a bright gold, a single silver line running through the middle, running from the top to bottom. Covered by a fringe of dark black hair, sat a lightning bolt in silver fur.

"Harry… dear, please turn back so I may check you." He uncurled, stretching. He yawned, showing rows of sharp, silver teeth, before changing back. It was almost instantly, and it looked painful, though he gave no indication of whether he was in pain or not.

She gave him a full check up, mildly surprised that there was nothing wrong with him. (Other than his lyncathropy.)

"Well, Harry, you're free to go," she said, albeit reluctantly. "Be warned that you'll be a little hyper for a while, that's the side affect for those who are bitten while sixteen or younger." Before Harry could even leave the bed, Sirius and Remus entered the ward, looking anxious, concerned, and hesitant all at once.

"Morning!" Harry said cheerfully. Sirius raised an eyebrow at Remus, who only shook his head, smiling.

"Good morning, Harry," said Remus lightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than ever!" Harry jumped off the bed, going to look out the windows, whose drapes were now open. His eyes lit up as they looked over the grounds, sparkling brightly for the first clear day in over a month. He turned to his Godfather and Remus eagerly. "Can we go outside?" he asked, puppy-dog eyes and all. Remus and Sirius looked over to Madam Pomfrey who nodded after a moment, sighing.

"Sure, Harry. Whatever you want," Sirius said, smiling. Harry smiled brightly, bounding out of the door. Chuckling, the two remaining Marauders followed.

Luckily, it was early enough that most of the students would be still sleeping, as it was Saturday. But just in case, Sirius changed into Padfoot/Snuffles, trotting at Remus's side. Harry had paused at the bottom of the stairs, foot tapping the floor impatiently.

His eyes rested briefly on Sirius, and a mischievous look crossed his face. Without warning, he tackled Sirius, turning into a wolf midway. Sirius yelped, startled, then tore after Harry, who had quickly ran away and out the doors onto the grounds. Remus rolled his eyes, smiling, then followed the two at a more leisurely pace.

Harry evaded Sirius again, changing direction and running toward the lake. Growling playfully, Sirius followed, only to fall in as Harry sharply turned without warning. When he surfaced, spluttering, Harry was sitting innocently at the side of a large, brown wolf, who was looking at him in amusement. Sirius glared at the two, getting out of the lake and looking like a drowned… well, dog. He shook himself dry, ignoring the yelps of the two werewolves as he sprayed them with water. Sharing a look, the two tackled him to the ground, starting a nice round of wrestling.

After a few hours, the giddiness that accompanied first-bite began to wear off, and Harry slowly began to become less playful.


	9. The Other Time Travel Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallen Angel:
> 
> The war has ended in favor of the Light, but not without it's price. Harry Potter, now the Man Who Conquered the Dark, sees nothing left for him in this rebuilding world. An attempt to 'displace' himself backfires and he finds himself in a time when Hogwarts was just a dream and the Founders were barely adults… Can two of the founders help him before his life ends for good?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A War-Mage-war-weary-Harry-travels-to-the-Founder's-Era fic. Circa 2004-ish? I've included some of my notes, the prologue (of a sorts), and a scene I was planning to put in a future chapter.

Pairings: Salazar/Harry/Godric, Rowena/OC, Helga/OC

GG: gold-blond/blue - 21  
HH: red/black - 20  
RR: brown/grey - 23  
SS: blue-black/amber - 20  
HP: jet black/green - 22

GG: Air Mage ; Tamer  
HH: Earth Mage ; Empath  
RR: Water Mage ; Seer  
SS: Fire Mage ; Parselmouth, Creator  
HP: Platinum War Mage ; Parselmouth

Prologue

He didn't know what made him do it. Perhaps it was the stress, perhaps it was the familiarity, perhaps it was just the whole damn thing. He never asked to live while his parents were murdered before him; to grow up with a family that abhorred him and a quick-tempered uncle that loved nothing more than 'punishing' him for every little thing. He never even asked to be the savior of a whole damn people and get treated like the second Coming because of it.

He never asked for any of it. Not one little part.

But he still didn't know why he did it.

Harry stared around him. The village was noisy, busy people going about their busy lives as though they hadn't just been through war. But, Harry supposed, _these_ people haven't just gone through war. _These_ people haven't known the horrors that came with every sunrise, the pain of wondering whether that day would be your last, or the last of your friends... knowing if whether or not you would survive at all, and would you hold enough of your old self to stay sane if you did? But Harry knew that, knew all of it. He resented these people for not sharing the same pain he felt where he supposed he once had a soul.

As he stared around at these happy, busy, strangely-garbed people, he received quite a few stares himself. The robes he wore weren't common among their kind, few as they were. They were the ancient robes of the War Mage Clan, only... different somehow. The collar was lower, belt only encircling the waist, cape gone though the hood remained, shadowing his face somewhat, although it was better hidden by the silver mask that hid the entire left side. As well, the level stripe, the color indicating your power, instead of being worn across the shoulders was worn as the hem of the sleeves, robes, and collar. But it was also the color that drew their eyes: the grey-silver platinum, the highest any could ever go. None had ever reached that level who had survived.

Harry, used to it from home, ignored it. He stared the few blatantly staring at him in the eyes, or eye as one was hidden behind the mask, until they, fright in their eyes, looked away. The bitter harshness in his once lively emerald orb was something that even Voldemort had come to fear. They were the eyes of the fallen, of the broken who had, for no other reason than utter uncaring, gotten back up. The eyes of the damned.

He magicked away his level stripe. He had no use of it now. After a while, people stopped staring.

He wondered: Was this his punishment? For attempting to take his life, to leave a world he despised, he was sent here? Or was it a gift, a haven away from his pain and suffering, the expectancy he still had to live up to? Just how far back in time was he sent?

He was bumped into rudely from behind and his contemplation interrupted.

"Oh! Excuse me, I'm terribly sorry, sir. I wasn't watching where I was going."

He turned, glancing quickly at a slightly flushed girl. Her red hair reminded him painfully of a family he had failed, black eyes the same of the mentor he had lost. She was older than him, by a year at the most. She glanced into his eyes and her own widened; she hissed in a breath and took a step back and stumbled. He caught her arm and steadied her out of pure reflex

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," she repeated nibbling lightly on her lower lip in a mix of worry, fright, and apprehension.

"It's fine," he said. She flinched. Harry supposed why: he had not used his voice for many weeks; it was rough, husky from disuse. She bowed and backed away nervously, but he stopped her retreat by taking hold of her forearm.

"Tell me, where am I?" he demanded. She flinched again.

"Why, you're in Hogsmeade, sir," she answered him, a tremor of confusion lilting her voice. He furrowed his brow. He remembered Hogsmeade as being bigger, with more buildings, and... completely and utterly in ruin. "Are- are you fine, sir?" she asked hesitantly. He glanced sharply at her.

"Harry." She blinked, surprised.

"Begging your pardon?"

"Not 'sir'. Harry." Understanding dawned in her eyes and she relaxed when he let go of her arm. She smiled cautiously.

"Very well, then s-Harry. It's Helga, likewise," she curtsied. "Helga Hufflepuff." He glanced back at her sharply, and she looked both annoyed and startled. "You're new here, aren't you? I've never seen you before and in a town this size, it'd be a mite difficult not to know everyone." He shrugged uncaringly, wondering what he was going to do now that he was in this mess. He didn't know what he did in the first place that sent him here, and it wasn't like he really wanted to go back...

"You could say that," he answered her when he realized it'd been a few minutes since she had asked.

"Helga!" The girl turned at the voice and smiled brightly. Harry glanced over his shoulder. Another girl was running towards them, brown hair flapping behind her. Harry felt a pang. She slowed as she neared them, panting slightly. "Helga, there you are! I've been searching everywhere. You've had me in a right scare!" the girl admonished gently. Helga merely smiled innocently at her.

"Sorry, Ro. I didn't mean to frighten you." The older girl gave the red-head a stern frown and a quick hug.

"See that you don't do it again." Helga nodded. Ro took a double-take when she spotted Harry, eyeing his modified War Mage Clan robes and absent level stripe. "Who is this, Helga?"

"This is Harry, he's new. Harry, this is my best friend, Rowena Ravenclaw." Harry merely nodded, turning his gaze back toward the town so much unlike his own. The two girls exchanged glances, surprised and worried. They had both seen the emptiness in the visible eye, slowly destroying him from within. They knew only one other whom had had to deal with such pain.

"Just Harry?" Rowena said curiously. "Is there a surname?" Harry glanced back at her, annoyed.

"Not one I'd care to disclose," he said, voice somehow tense.

"I see," she said hesitantly. The friends exchanged looks again.

"Tell me," he said suddenly, looking around the small town, frowning. "Where is it I can find lodging for the night?"

"The inn's been full for days, I'm afraid," Helga said apologetically. "The next town over had a nasty flood and we've taken in as many we could while they repair the damage."

"You can stay at the castle." Both Harry and Helga looked at Rowena, Harry with a sharp shrewdness in his eye and Helga in surprise. "We've plenty of room there, and would be honored to house one of the War Mage Clan." His single eye pierced through her.

"Very well. But I am not of the Clan." They stared silently at each other for a moment. Rowena nodded sharply once and turned.

"Follow us. Helga," she turned to look at her bewildered friend, "please show our guest to the castle. I will fly ahead to have a room made." Helga nodded.

"Of course, Ro." Rowena smiled. With a small sound, she changed into an impressive, handsome eagle, and took off like a bullet toward the castle looming in the not-so far distance.

Scene:

Salazar grabbed his shoulder firmly, stopping him from leaving. Harry turned around and snarled at him.

"Release me," Harry hissed furiously in Parseltongue. Shocked, Salazar did so, staring at him with wide eyes.

"You are a Parselmouth?" he said, amazed that there existed one he didn't know of. Harry ignored the question and attempted to leave again. Godric blocked the door. Harry growled low in his throat.

"Move," he ground through clenched teeth. Godric stayed firmly planted. Salazar took hold of his shoulders again, only this time pinning him against the wall.

"You are not leaving until we are satisfied," Salazar said, ignoring the murderous look in the younger boy's eyes. "There is a mystery about you and we wish to solve it."

"I am not a puzzle for you to piece together!" Harry hissed, this time not in Parseltongue.

"Oh, you are indeed a very intriguing puzzle," Godric said from his position against the door. There was a strange glint in his eyes, mirrored by Salazar's. It made Harry feel like... prey.

In a sudden move, Salazar had moved his hands, now pinning Harry to the wall with his body, wrists pinned above him.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, suddenly wary. Salazar gave him leering parody of a grin and Harry saw Godric move over his shoulder.

"We are curious about more than your secrets," Salazar purred into his ear. Harry tensed as Salazar took his lobe between his teeth, nibbling it.


	10. The Discworld Crossover Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter, Lord of Death:
> 
> Some things you just don't question. Death is one of them. (Mainly because you probably wouldn't understand the answer he gave you, and there'd be a whole lot of confusion all over the place. Really not worth it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ran across a challenge a long, long time ago and attempted it. Suffice to say, it never went anywhere, more's the pity.

**Prologue:** Death

He stared impatiently at his watch. His cloak rustled slightly in the wind, but he ignored it. Instead, he tapped his foot to show his impatience and switched his gaze from his watch, to a two-handed sharp scythe, to the somewhat empty space around him, and back again. Really, did future dead people _always_ have to be late? He thought he'd seen the last of that when the wizard-who-only-knew-one-spell _finally_ kicked the bucket, so to speak.

"I hate it when they're late," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. At long last, a small fat rat with half of a silver paw came scuttling into view, and he watched in anticipation. Following the small fat rat with half of a silver paw were three people dressed in fancy white and blue clothing, holding small sticks out like weapons, shouting somewhat incoherently.

"There he is!"

"Catch him! Hurry!"

" _Petrificus_!" The small fat rat with half of a silver paw squeaked rather loudly as the blue beam of light hit him. It flailed wildly, turning into a small fat man with half of a silver arm, whom landed rather painfully on the tarmac roof with a loud squeal of pain.

He fingered the curved blade, standing back on his heels for a show.

One of the men stepped forward, taking out a rather crisp, shiny scroll and unfolded it. He read it out loud.

"Peter Andrew Pettigrew III, you are hereby under the capture and command of the British Wizard Ministry of Magic, Auror Division on the charges of: Accomplice in the murder of James Godric Potter VII and Lilliath Annamarie Evans-Potter; wrongful imprisoning of an innocent man; attempted murder of Harold James Potter II; aiding in the return of a Dark Lord; being a Dark Wizard of the Death Eater Fellowship; illegally becoming an Animagus; and so forth. You have rights to trial under Veritaserum, and everything you confess to will land you in Azkaban with the Dementors Kiss. You will not be given a fair trial. Everyone already thinks you're guilty. Anything you do or say now in objection to these accusations will not help you in any way whatsoever, and indeed will land you with a few nasty bruises, a few hexes, and a concussion or three. You will now come quietly or we will very happily bring you in pieces."

The small fat man with half of a silver arm gulped noisily and glanced down at the ground three stories below. He then glanced around the top of the building, looking nervously at the three men fingering their wands and at a fourth figure he hadn't quite noticed before…

Black cloak, skeletal body, shiny scythe that, in accordance to the laws of dramatics, went _ting_ …

Peter gulped. The figure grinned. *****

 **HELLO**.

It was _fun_ being Death sometimes…

-

 ***** Of course, he couldn't actually _grin_ , being a skeleton and all, but he certainly did try.

* * *

 

 **Chapter One:** Rats

Harry always knew he was different from other people. In his past life, he had been Death for many thousands of years. ***** He had decided to reincarnate himself after his granddaughter - well, his _past self's_ granddaughter - told him he didn't really understand life, only the technicalities of it. She wasn't very happy with him when she found out, because it meant that _she'd_ had to be Death until he decided he wanted his old job back, and frankly, she _really_ didn't like having to be Death. (She'd actually tried to kill him so he'd _have_ to take his job back, but it didn't really work, to Voldemort's consternation.)

At the moment, he was in the library. It was nearing two o'clock in the morning. (One thing about being Death was that he didn't have to sleep much. Or at all, really.)

The library was quiet. And, aside from the numerous books (which were quite stubborn when it came to libraries and the subsequent being in them) and Harry himself, it was quite empty. Four candles hovered over one of the small tables in the back where Harry was busy at work. He was staring at the wall, which took a lot of concentration and will power. After all, one didn't want to look away before the wall did. That was called losing.

A small, lone figure scurried into the room. It wore a tiny black cloak and was carrying a tiny scythe between its teeth. It scrambled up the table and waited patiently for it to be noticed. After a while, Patience decided it wanted to read a book and ambled off.

 **SQUEAK**. Harry glanced down.

"Oh, hello." The skeleton-rat-inna-cloak hopped up and down frantically.

**SQUEAK IK IK!**

"Really?" Harry said disinterestedly. "Well, then, I suppose I can't stop her then, can I?" The rat thought for a moment.

 **SQUEAK**.

"Then what are you worried about?"

 **SQUEAK**.

"What is she mad at me about this time anyway?"

 **SQUEAK**. Harry shrugged.

"Well, what does she expect? I can't quit _now_ , it's only been seventeen years. Besides, it was her idea anyway."

 **SQUEAK**.

"Yes it was. She said I didn't understand life, only the basics. The being alive part, I mean. And it's not like she's Death _all_ the time. Only when I'm not."

 **SQUEAK**. **EEK**. **SQUEAK IK IK**.

"Hm? Oh, that. Yes, I _know_ you're Death of Rats, but technically, Peter was human."

 **SQUEAK**.

"Does it really matter if he died as a rat? He was still human."

 **IK**. The skeleton-rat-inna-cloak grumbled to itself for a moment. **SQUEAK?**

"Hm? Oh, that. I thought using the Voice in this form wasn't a good idea. It would raise too many questions." If the rat had lungs, it would have sighed. It tried to anyway, without much success.

 **SQUEAK**.

"All right then. Nice of you to drop by. Tell Albert to stop worrying. Tell Susan to stop sulking. Tell Binky I said hello."

 **IK IK**. The Death of Rats scurried out the door. There was a moment of silence.

"Whenever you're ready," Harry said politely. Patience put the book back and slunk out of the door after it.

-

 ***** Technically, he still was, but no one ever talked about that when the subject came up, only complained.

 


	11. The One With the Genderbending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moonshine and Daisies:
> 
> One morning, Harry woke up. He went to the washroom to get ready for breakfast. Then he looked in the mirror. And all hell broke loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Fem!Harry fic. I tried. Honestly, I did. I couldn't see the point of turning a male character into a girl only to end up pairing him with another male character, but I wanted to see if I could do it. I failed. TBH, I still don't see the point, but... whatever. It started becoming a cracky parody of all genderbend fics and then I wrote George and Fred talking with that "Twin Speak" thing (that everyone does in their fics that NO ONE does in real life, like srsly it's _so annoying_ ) even though it's not nearly as bad as most I've seen (twins do not switch off their sentences every 3-4 words except maybe in visual entertainment, and even then I've never seen it, I mean it happened ONE TIME in the books and became a THING) and so I gave up.
> 
> (Please keep in mind this was written before gender labeling became a Thing before you decide to lambaste me.)
> 
> (Also, yes, I have serious Issues when it comes to the fanfiction-style Fred&George!speak. Many of them.)
> 
> To reiterate in case you missed it: **This is crack.**

Chapter One: To Kill a Weasel (Or Two)

Harry Potter, Sixth Year Gryffindor, woke up on a perfectly normal Sunday morning. He yawned loudly, glancing around his dormroom blearily to see that his dorm mates had already left for breakfast. He sat up, stretching, tugging with a frown at the large, pure white shirt that used to belong to his cousin Dudley. It felt tighter than it usually did.

He got out of bed, wearing only the shirt, a pair of boxers, and socks, and pulled on a pair of black jeans, also ex-Dudley's. Jeans that actually fit, as he had filled out quite a bit during the summer during an incredible growth spurt- or, as he noted with a half-asleep mind, should have fit. It felt too tight around the hips and too loose around the legs. He shrugged, not really caring at the moment.

He stumbled into the bathroom after grabbing his glasses from the side stand, deciding to skip his usual morning shower, as, by the face of the clock, he was becoming extremely late for breakfast.

He brushed his teeth, cringing at the taste the toothpaste had decided to become that day (black licorice) and washed his face. He yawned again and put on his glasses, turning to get changed out of his night shirt. He saw something in the mirror and paused. Bright green eyes, suddenly fully awake, widened.

Then he screamed.

In the Great Hall, everyone else was happily enjoying a wonderful breakfast. In the middle of the meal, they were suddenly cut off by a loud, high-pitched scream, which shook the glass on the table. And directly after the scream came a loud, pissed, roar-

" _ **WEASLEY**_!" The furious voice echoed throughout the castle and into the Great Hall causing everyone to look up and four Weasley's to look confused. Well- two of them, anyway. The other two, who were visiting for the weekend, were snickering behind their hands.

Suddenly, in a whirlwind of black, white, and green, a girl stormed into the Hall, looking murderous. She was tall, with long, silky black hair with stripes of red to her waist, ivory skin, and was absolutely beautiful. At the moment she was wearing a white shirt much too wide for her delicate frame, though it was tight at the chest, socks, and a pair of tight, black muggle jeans which showed off that part of her figure very nicely.

Her bright, familiar green eyes scanned the hall then locked onto the snickering Weasley twins. Her eyes sparked. They gulped. She stalked over to them like a hungry cat who had just spotted a bowl of creme with a bird in it.

"Fred and George Weasley?" she growled and purred at the same time. Then glanced at each other and gulped again. Clawing her hands, she led out a loud roar and lunged at them. "DIE!"

She grabbed them by the front of their robes and shook them so hard they almost had whiplash.

"What the hell were you thinking, you- (she said something that made many girls blush and McGonagall to turn red)- ?!" She continued, cheeks pink in anger. "Look what you've done to me! I'm a… I'm a… I'm a GIRL!" Snorts of laughter came from all around the hall, only stopping when she sent a glare worthy of Voldemort's jealousy around.

The Girl Who Was Obviously Not Supposed to Be a Girl let them down with a THUMP! and sniffled, eyes filling with frustrated tears. She growled, pouting at the same time, causing many a male to drool.

"Damn hormones!" She glared up at the staff table at Dumbledore. "Sir? Permission to kill these two idiots?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow in amusement, twinkles shining like torches in his eyes, and chuckled.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid retribution will have to wait for another day, Miss-" she glared harder at him, "-ahem, _Mr._ Potter." Everyone gaped.

Harry ignored them and scowled.

"Then can I curse them?" Dumbledore just smiled.

"I'm afraid not."

"Hex?"

"No."

"Jinx."

"No."

"Poison? Castrate?" She looked hopeful, while the twins grew paler. "Disembowel?" The Headmaster shook his head. She thought for a moment.

"What about just hurt them really, really badly?" Dumbledore chuckled again.

"Sorry, Miss… eh, _ter_ Potter." He, or should I says she?, pouted again, without even bothering to glare at him.

"Fine," she said after a moment, much to the twins' relief. "Then I suggest you hide the Bludger bats, because I can find various different, unusual, _painful_ places to put them." She glared at the twins, who gulped again and shrank back.

Dumbledore, along with many others in the Hall, laughed quietly. He stood.

"I suggest, Miss Potter, that you, Messrs. Fred and George Weasley, the Head of Houses, and I go up to my office to find a way to reverse what has been done to you." Harry nodded vigorously while many males moaned at the thought of not seeing him- I mean, _her_ , female again.

On the way out of the hall, the other students heard her say-

"Are you _sure_ I can't maim them?" A chuckle, belonging to Dumbledore.

"Positive." Then-

" _Damn_!"

Up in the Headmaster's office, the staff wisely kept Harry on one side of the room and the twins on the other, lest one of them start a killing spree. And I don't mean the twins.

Harry sat, sulking, in a chair next to the Headmaster's desk, idly stroking Fawkes, who had settled in her lap almost immediately after she had sat. Snape, Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall (in that order, lest McGonagall and Snape try to kill each _other_ ) sat to her right to separate her from the twins, who sat on the far end.

"Now, Mister Weasley and Mister Weasley," Dumbledore spoke, hands folded atop his desk. "Please explain why you have changed Mister Potter into Miss Potter." Fred and George spoke up at the same time.

"It was only a joke-"

"-no harm meant, honestly!-"

"-we thought it would be funny-"

"-and we needed someone to test a new joke product-"

"-it was ingenious, really-"

"-Harry _immediately_ came to mind-"

"-we thought it would cheer him up-"

"-you know, after that nasty break-up with Justin and all-"

"-so, you see, we really didn't mean any harm-"

"-and it'll wear off-"

"-yeah, it'll wear off, no problem-"

"-eventually, anyway."

Harry glared at them suspiciously as Fred hit George over the head.

"Eventually?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Uh… yeah." Fred looked nervously back at her.

"How long is 'eventually'?" Her voice started to become dangerous.

"Uh… well, you see…." George started.

"The thing is… uh…" Fred continued.

"We don't know," they both said at the same time.

"You don't know?" Dumbledore said, raising an eyebrow. Fred sighed and began to explain.

"You see, last night we put a Turnabout Tablet into a glass of water on Harry's side stand-"

"-originally, it was only meant to last about a week or so-"

"-but when we were making the potion that went into it-"

"-a temporary Femorajuice-"

"-we added a bit of Everlast Dust-"

" _Everlast Dust_?" Harry screeched, interrupting them. "You-!" The twins hastily continued before she said something very unladylike.

"-a little _too_ much, really-"

"-actually, we accidentally put in almost a quarter of a cup-"

"-so we don't really know how long it'll last-"

"Idiots!" interrupted Snape, glaring at them. "You are never supposed to add more than a thimble of Everlast Dust to _any_ potion!"

"It was an accident!" huffed George indignantly.

"Accident or no," cut in Harry, eyes still narrowed. "How- long- will- it- last?" Even Snape looked hesitant, but he finally spoke, scowling.

"With how much they put in, it could last anywhere from eleven to fifteen months." Harry blinked.

"Do you mean to tell me," she started, infamous Lily-ish temper beginning to show itself, "that I could be stuck _as a girl_ for nearly a _year_?!"

"…Or even be permanent," Snape finished, adverting his eyes.

Harry's eyes flashed. Various things exploded. She lunged.

Fred and George screamed like little girls and ran for the door.

* * *

 

Chapter Two: Oh, To Be a Girl….

Pretty soon, it wasn't just Harry who wanted to kill the twins. For when Harry-the-girl exploded, she wasn't the only thing. Cups, windows, plates, potion jars- nothing was safe from her temper. Fred and George, wisely, had left Hogwarts immediately to go back to their joke shop in Diagon Alley, which was in London, and therefore quite a distance from Harry.

Harry had renamed herself Alexandria for the hell of it and had been moved out of the Sixth Year boys dormitory to the Sixth Year girls.

Despite her temper, Alexandria (Xandria or Xan for short) had become even more popular than she had been as Harry. Lavender, Parvati, Parvati's twin Padma, Cho Chang, and even Hermione banded together to teach Xandria the finer points of being a girl. They even decided to stay during Christmas break.

At the moment, though, Xandria was thinking that being a girl was, if she _ever_ changed back, _not_ something she wanted to try again.

"Oh, come on, Har- Xandria. It can't be _that_ bad!" Hermione scowled at the bathroom door the following Friday, tapping her foot.

"No!" Xandria said sullenly. "I look stupid." Hermione sighed. The other four girls, lounging on the beds closest to the door, sighed as well.

"If you don't come out in five seconds, I'm going to _Alohomora_ you out." She started counting. "One. Two. Three. _I mean it, Harry!_ Four. Five. Alright, that's it! _Aloho-_ " Before she could finish, the door swung open and a scowling Xandria came out.

The five girls gaped.

"Holy damn…" Lavender breathed. "If I wasn't already going out with Dean…."

And indeed, Xandria did _not_ look stupid.

As Dumbledore had relented and gave the school permission to wear informal attire (meaning anything not related to school uniforms) on the last Friday before holidays, the girls decided to nick some muggle clothing from various girls around the school, Hermione and Cho being main benefactors. They had also played around with Xandria's waist-length hair and (much to Xandria's disapproval) even put on a touch of makeup.

They had played around for a little bit with various outfits, before Xandria had gotten fed up and grabbed the shirt and skirt she liked best, as well as various undergarments, socks, and a pair of shoes, and went into the bathroom to change. When she came out, the five girls were happily stunned by the outcome.

Xandria had chosen a long, black skirt with a slit from knee down and a black silk shirt with a silver and green dragon that looked as if it were twining about her shoulders and stomach. She also had on long, black leather boots that went up to her knees.

Her hair had been done up in a Chinese-style bun, complete with gold filigree chopsticks. A curl tendril hung loose down the side of her face. Dark silver eye shadow and black eyeliner highlighted the brightness of her eyes, while just a bit of red lipstick brought out the natural pink in her cheeks.

"You look _anything_ but stupid, Xandria," Cho said, smiling. "In my honest opinion, you should have been _born_ a girl." Xandria softened.

"Really?" The five girls nodded. Xandria smiled. "Thanks, guys." She sniffled.

"Please don't cry, Xan," Parvati said, laying a hand on her shoulder. "You'll ruin your mascara." Xandria glared at her. So did everyone else.

Parvati blinked. "What did I say?"

"EEE! Chocolate!" was the happy squeal that penetrated the normal sounds of dinner Everyone turned to stare at Xandria as she happily munched on the chocolate gnome. She paused and stared back. "What?"

Hermione, Cho, Lavender, Padma, and Parvati sighed. Trust Xandria to begin, ahem, "That Time Of The Month" as soon as school resumed.

"What?" Xan demanded hotly, glaring at everyone. Said everyone wisely turned away.


	12. The Firefly Crossover Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over My Head:
> 
> He saved her life, and now she won't leave him alone. However, River insists she can help him, and who is Harry to deny her, especially when an unlikely group of misfits shows up and throws his life into chaos?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to read a non-space travel Harry Potter/Firefly/Serenity crossover really, really badly, and I wanted the pairing to be Harry/Simon and told partly in third-person River pov. I never got very far, but I can dream that someone will read what I've written and make their own attempt... ((HINT*HINT))

Surrey, she decided, was a rather unremarkable place. If you thought about it, not that she ever really did, one home after the other was exactly the same, as though each one was specifically designed and built exactly to follow some unnamed, unwritten schematic that everyone followed but never really saw. Like a secret Government science project created to facilitate a common norm or discover whether or not random families from random places could be turned into mindless, automated drones as fake and monotonous as the homes they lived in.

Not that she was about to spout anti-government theses and multiple conspiracy theories, even if she wouldn't be surprised if they were true. She wasn't _suicidal_ …. At least, she didn't think she was, at any rate.

Still, she found the place boring over all. Everyone pretty much ignored everyone else unless they were spying on them for juicy gossip tidbits to tell their book club members or fellow company drones. Just like that annoying woman three houses down who had peered out of her living room window suspiciously as she and her brother moved in, and who sent her small, horribly unsubtle glances every time she walked by their house on her way to and from the grocery store, which she seemed to do quite often.

She wondered if they could tell that she found them all to be incredibly dull people. Either that or they were immediately suspicious of new-comers to their flat, one-sided little world who moved in under mysterious (to them) circumstances and lived there for several months without once trying to make friendly. Or it _could_ just be the American flag she hung in her bedroom window, owning a perverse pleasure to horrify, shock, or otherwise insult people. She blames Jayne for that. So did her brother.

It was through no fault of her own, she told her brother defiantly, that she didn't socialize. All of the kids she had met who were her age were as boring and ignorant as their parents. The boys were either too young to hang out with, too stupid to be interesting, or too egomaniacal to be interested about anyone or anything other than themselves. Rather like Jayne, she summarized, only without the bloodlust. She had only met three girls on her block, but if the rest of them were just as ditzy, make-up plastered, and image-crazy as they were, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with them.

Seriously. And if he, her favorite and most beloved only brother, told her to go out and "find _someone_ to hang out with instead of terrorizing the neighbors" one more time, she would oh so lovingly castrate him with a very dull spoon. Although, she did hope he wasn't getting sick; he did look a mite pale there for a moment.

The sum of her internal ranting, she concluded, was that she didn't like Surry and she wanted to move to somewhere a _bit_ more interesting. Naturally, this decision was made within five minutes of actually being inside Number Eleven Privet Drive and she told her brother thus. His response was to tell her that if she didn't start unpacking within thirty seconds she'd be sleeping the floor for the duration of their stay there as all her belongings would go strait to the nearest dump.

Being incredibly mature, dignified, and sophisticated she did the first thing that came to mind and blew him a wet raspberry and promptly stomped upstairs, slamming her door for effect. Really, big brothers could be so _bossy_.


	13. The Really Weird Preggers Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Pitter Patter
> 
> AUish. A bunch of PotterCast gets pregnant. ...that's about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... I think I was just really, really bored that day... Yeah, we'll go with that.
> 
> Crack. Like woah.
> 
> Also, I guess this could also stand alone as a drabble.

**Pairing(s):** [Harry]/Severus, Ron/[Hermione]/Draco, _Justin/Colin_ , [Fred]/George, Blaise/[Seamus], Dean/[Ginny], Neville/[Hannah] _, Padma/Lavender, Parvati/Pansy_

-

As the meal ended Dumbledore stood, commanding the attention of everyone in the Hall. His eyes were twinkling as always, though there was a strange gleam in them this time. He smiled benignly at them all as the Hall was finally submersed in silence.

"I would like it," he began, "if all those students, present and past," his mirthful gaze swept over the teachers, "who had last night, shall I say, intimate encounters with their mates please stay behind." There was a burst of astonished whispers and more than a few blushes. "It is a matter of most importance. Please, do not be ashamed to stay behind, you are in no way in trouble." He smiled reassuringly at them. "Now, as for the rest of you, off to bed!"

A great number of the Hall left slowly, wanting to see who would stay behind and who wouldn't. They were ushered out of the room, however, by a flustered-looking McGonagall, who threatened a month of detention with Filch if they did not leave to their dorms strait away. That gave them reason to move and they were gone in a flash. But there was still a fair number who had stayed, all blushing brightly save for one or two, who were grinning most wickedly with great amusement.

Dumbledore asked those who stayed to stand and with a wave of his hand, the newly-emptied tables were gone, leaving only one.

"Now," Dumbledore said, eyes bright, "if you would all separate yourselves accordingly... Let's see… yes, how about this: those whom shared intimacies with a male last night on the right, females on the left."

There was hesitation from quite a few of the stay-behinders. A few of the boys immediately sat on the left and a few girls immediately on the right. The rest just shared glances with each other. Dumbledore smiled at them, a truly unsettling one.

"Come, now, don't be shy. You won't be judged." With a great unanimous sigh, a few girls sat on the left and a few boys sat on the right, nearly all of them blushing a deep cherry.

To their great astonishment, Severus Snape slid into an empty seat on the front end of the right wearing a truly feral grin. Harry Potter, whom he ended up sitting next to, tried his best at hiding a groan and failed miserably. His face could be said to resemble a tomato which was then buried in his hands. And then, to near heart attacks, Snape _chuckled_. Though, they had to admit it sounded more like cackling… Dumbledore merely looked amused and knowing. The rest of the professors, who remained standing, looked like they were about to faint. (Although, Xiamora Hooch was positively gleeful.)

"I'm guessing you're wondering why you are here," Dumbledore said once he was sure he had their attention. There were a few mumbled agreements. "First, you girls," he gestured to those who sat on the left, "you may go, if you wish. If not you may stay." The girls (equaling four) shared a glance and sat firmly where they were planted. "Very well then," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. He cleared his throat and finally began.

"Once every hundred years or so, the shields and protections placed around Hogwarts simultaneously drop for exactly twelve hours so that they may build back up to their proper strength. _**Every single shield**_ , meaning the protection charms placed around the school: the ones that won't let you drown in the lake, the ones that will save you if you fall off or out of a tower or staircase, and the ones that protect the castle from attacks. That also means the spells that disallow the portraits to speak of things they are not allowed; the spells that monitor packages for things that will harm another's health; and, also, the contraceptive spells."

On the right side of the table, Hermione's eyes widened and she gasped, covering her mouth. Her cheeks were tinged a faint pink. Dumbledore nodded, looking sadistically cheerful.

"Exactly what you are thinking, Miss Granger." He grinned down at them. "You see," Dumbledore began to explain to the rest, "the contraceptive spells make it so that no one in the castle save those who drink a certain potion may get pregnant while doing certain… activities. Therefore, there is a very big possibility that those of you on the right may or may not be with child."

The reactions were mixed: astonishment, shock, disbelief, mortification, confusion, and glee. (This last one included Dumbledore, Severus, Xiamora, and a few others.)

"But, Professor!" Ron spoke up, sitting on the left, one of those who wore confusion. "How can a guy get preggers?" He gestured to the guys sitting on the opposite side from him. Severus scoffed.

"Come off it, Weasley. Surely you know that _anything_ is possible in the Wizarding World?" He raised an eyebrow at Ron, who merely ground his teeth in an attempt not to snap a comment back that would put Gryffindor in the negatives. Now nearly all the guys on the right wore mortified looks.

"Aptly said, Severus," Dumbledore said. He was clearly enjoying this.

Harry, from his position on the right side of the table and next to Severus, surveyed the rest of the table. On the left, Padma, Lavender, Parvati, and Pansy looked like this was the gossip piece of the century and eyed the guys opposite them with gleeful faces. On the same side, Dean, Neville, Ron, another seventh year, and two sixth years he didn't know looked about ready to faint as they realized it was very possible they might become fathers. At the very end of the table, not sitting on either side, Draco Malfoy leaned against the table with a smirk on his face.

On the same side as himself, Hermione and Hannah Abbot looked ready to faint. Ginny looked calculating and three other girls looked fearful. As for the guys on his side…. Seamus, like Severus, looked ready to cackle, eyes filled with mischievous glee. Colin looked absolutely scared, Justin looked faint, Blaise Zabini wore a blank face, and the Weasley Twins looked torn between shock, fear, happiness, and, of course, mischievous glee.

Harry then took a moment to study the Potions Master next to him, who looked back at him with an emotion he couldn't name swirling in his onyx depths. Harry blinked, widened his eyes slightly, and then jumped up looking both outraged and disbelieving.

"You _knew_!" he accused the dark-haired professor, pointing a finger at him, glaring ever harder when Severus smirked at him, clearly trying not to dissolve in hysterical laughter. If glares could kill… "You-! See if I ever let you get near me again, you pompous, infuriating git!" Everyone stared at him. Ron choked.

"H-Harry?" Harry looked over at him, breaking off of a tirade he was about to start. He blushed and sat back down as Ron stared at him in shock. "You… you and _Snape_?" Harry turned his head downwards toward the table, face red and mumbled something that sounded like a "Yes". "How?" Ron asked, looking incredulous. " _When_?" Harry mumbled something again. Ron blinked. "What?" he said flatly. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Since last year!" Everyone at the table goggled him. "What?" he snapped at them defensively.

Dumbledore cleared his throat before things could get out of hand and took his wand out.

"Now, I'm going to cast a charm on those of you on the right to see if you are carrying. If you glow silver, then you are indeed pregnant. If you glow red you are not." He cast it on the three girls Harry didn't know first. They all glowed red and looked extremely relieved. Colin, Justin, George, and Blaise also glowed red, also looking relieved.

Hermione glowed silver. She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. Harry didn't know if it was from happiness or something else. Ron paled and Draco's face softened, a hint of a true smile shining. Harry knew that the three had been going out for quite a while and that while Ron was unsure, Draco really wanted to be a father. Harry didn't know about Hermione, she always changed the subject when it was brought up.

Ginny and Hannah also glowed silver. Dean went slack-jawed and Neville fainted. Seamus glowed silver and crowed in glee, glomping Blaise beside him. Fred glowed silver as well and was smothered by George.

Then it was his turn. Severus was watching expectantly, having performed the charm on himself and glowed red. Harry gulped and closed his eyes as the charm hit him, making him tingle. He was immediately engulfed by strong arms and a searing kiss placed on his lips. Almost fearing the result, Harry opened his eyes and looked at his hand. It was glowing silver.

Harry fainted.

He woke up to chaos.

And in the Hospital Wing, damn his luck.

At the end of his bed, four people were arguing. It was Severus against Sirius, and Remus and Madam Pomphrey against both of them.

"You insane, careless, greasy, jerk!" Sirius raged, shaking a fist at the Potions Master, who stood quite calmly in the face of such anger. "You knew this would happen! Why didn't you give Harry something if you two had to insist on doing... _that_?!"

"Will you two quiet down?" Remus growled, hands on his hips.

"Please, I have patients who are trying to rest!" added the exasperated nurse.

Harry coughed, gaining their attention. He sat calmly against his headboard, glaring at Severus as well.

"I would also like to know the answer to Sirius' question," Harry said coldly, glaring at his fiancée. Severus ignored his look, and strode forward briskly, bending slightly to leave a kiss on Harry's forehead.

"Welcome to the land of the waking," Severus said, completely ignoring everything else. Sirius growled, frustrated; Remus send a look heavenward; and Pomphrey sighed.

It surprised Harry greatly to learn Sirius's reaction to his engagement to Severus. Sirius, sitting on the couch in their shared quarters, merely blinked (quite a few times) stared blankly (for about five minutes) and then stood calmly and tried to strangle Harry's lover.

...Okay, so maybe it didn't surprise him all that much.

But what _did_ surprise him was how quickly Sirius got over it. He simply told Severus that if he hurt Harry, Sirius was going to have to do the worst possible thing his imagination could come up with - and his imagination could come up with _a lot_.

"I'm waiting for an _answer_ … _dear_." Harry added the last part after a slight pause. Severus sighed.

"I did not _tell_ you, love, because I knew you would have done something to stop me," he said.

"Damn right!" Harry seethed. Severus gave him a pointed look and he shut up.

"Harry…" Severus sat on the end of the bed and took his chin in his hand. "I love you. You know this. I want something that is ours, _solely_ ours, in every single way. And if that means nine months of mood swings and torture, so be it." Harry's eyebrow ticked, though he was somewhat mollified by his reasoning.

"You do mean torture for _me_?" Severus looked aghast.

"Heavens, no! For me, of course!"

Tick, went the eyebrow.

Five minutes later, Severus walked out of the hospital wing sporting donkey ears, green hair, pink polka-dotted robes, and a resigned look. Well, Sirius was right about something at least: he started the trouble, so he'd have to live through it.


	14. The Twin!Fic X-Men Crossover Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Savior:
> 
> Harry Potter, twin of the Boy Who Lived, was declared a squib after that Halloween Night. Not wanting to raise her son in a world he would never truly belong in, Lily sends him to her sister to be raised in the Muggle World. But they were wrong. And they're about to pay the price for it. X-Men crossover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write an HP/X-Men slash with a Twin!Fic and Nice!Dursleys twist, so I tried. And this is the result. I might have been able to continue if I knew where I was trying to go with this. Or if I knew anything about X-Men that didn't come from other crossovers. Or the Wiki.

_(Note to self: plot twist: Michael is the Boy Who Lived because he actually lived through the curse, while Harry's mutant ability restarted his heart only seconds after the weakened Curse stopped it. Michael is the Chosen One - His twin in the Other. Meaning, both Voldemort and Michael have to die.)_

The soft scratching of pen on paper echoed strangely in the quiet room. It paused every so often only to be replaced by slightly louder chink of glass and metal or the soft sound made only by the legs of chairs thudding against the floor. Then there would be a short, silent pause and once again the scratching sound would return. This was not an unusual occurrence in the well-sized kitchen, even as the clock above the oven struck five thirty a.m.

Petunia Dursley merely frowned worriedly as she glanced at the clock and gazed at the boy sitting at the kitchen table. He was so engrossed in his drawing that he didn't even notice the woman enter the room as he stared intently at the pad of paper in front of him, his pen moving in swift, sure strokes across the paper. He paused only long enough to pour himself more coffee from the pot next to him, not even registering the fact that nothing had come out of it until he tried to drink from his mug. It was at that point he stopped and put his pen down, frowning in consternation at his empty cup.

"Sweetie?" Petunia chose that moment to speak up, making the boy jump in surprise and nearly drop his empty coffee mug. He fumbled with it for a moment before setting it down on the table and turning toward her. "Are you all right, dear?" He lowered his eyes and turned his face to look down upon his drawing.

"I… couldn't sleep." She swallowed a sigh of frustration and sadness and gently smoothed his fly-away hair with her hand.

"Nightmares again?" He was silent for so long she thought he hadn't heard her. Then he sighed, almost violently, shut his notebook and clicked his pen shut.

"Yeah," he muttered. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. It was only a couple years ago that the nightmares started, and they had yet to find the cause. All they knew was that with each passing month they became darker and more troublesome, causing numerous sleepless nights and midnight raids of the coffee pot.

"Why don't you take a shower and freshen up, dear. I'll make more coffee." He sent her a smile that didn't reach his eyes and gathered his stuff. "Oh, and wake Vernon please, dear." He murmured his agreement and left the kitchen as silent as a wraith. Only when she was sure he was no longer in earshot did she release an explosive huff of air, scowling her displeasure at Fate and her vindictiveness at a boy who deserved much more than the injustices done to him.

She set about making breakfast, finding comfort in the familiar routine of every morning and the hustle and bustle of early morning Manhattan just now making its way to the no longer silent kitchen. It was rare that she missed the silence of Privet Drive, Surrey, and she found herself guilty in the fact that she missed it at all. She couldn't imagine utilizing her culinary expertise without the backdrop of honking cars and the nearby La Guardia Airport. Twelve years ago, she would have cringed at the very thought of such reckless clamor invading her pristine neighborhood and snubbed anyone who would dare suggest ever leaving the humdrum tranquility.

Now, however…. Now the commotion lulled her to sleep and greeted her with every morning. It filled her with a sort of peace she never knew she was missing in Surry, and the thought of ever returning to the place they tried so hard to escape filled her with trepidation.

No, they would never go back there. Not if they could help it. Not when it was doing so much to heal the heart that world had shattered into a million pieces with utterly no remorse or second thoughts. She was much happier exactly where she was, where she knew with a type of serene certainty one could only gain with such revelations that this place, this noisy, busy, completely different lifestyle was exactly where they belonged.

And as always with the thoughts of her old life came the bitter anger that fueled her curses at her only sibling, her brainless sister and her sister's oaf of a husband and that horrid man who ran that bloody school. If it weren't for them her family would have never felt the need to leave their home to escape the pain that resulted from their carelessness to abandon their own child to relatives they didn't care to think about often enough to do anything more than offhandedly invite to their wedding and send short, formal holiday greetings to.

Despite contrary opinions, Petunia Dursley _nee_ Evans did not hate her sister. Infuriated with her, surely, but she did not hate her. She had felt differently during her youth when her younger sister had received a letter inviting her to an exclusive school from any child's fairytale, and felt extremely left out at every holiday and summer break when her younger, prettier sister returned home to the adoring adulation of their parents who felt it far more exciting to have a magical daughter rather than a genius one. Petunia, whom excelled far beyond any schools expectations and had received scholarships to the very best universities in Britain at a young age based only on her academic achievements, was always nudged off to the side by a few waves of a wooden stick and beams of colorful lights.

This may have caused resentment, but never hate. Lily was her sister, after all, and the only family she had left after the brutal murder of their parents back in '77. She was naturally very hurt when it was decided that Lily, being underage in both the magical and non-magical worlds, would remain in the magical one with her friends until she came of age instead of staying with her sister for the several months that would be. To cover her pain and grief, Petunia rushed her way through University, where she met her now-husband Vernon, then an undergraduate student of Oxford.

Gradually, she became content with herself and her life, enough so that it hurt only a little when her wedding invitation returned with a flowery brief yet polite, "Sorry, but we're busy." So she settled into her life with the knowledge that her sister wanted little to nothing to do with her, and painstakingly ignored this fact while becoming a housewife to her beloved Vernon who was quickly climbing the ladder in one of the largest drilling firms in Britain, content in knowing that should they ever need to, she could always fall back to one of her degrees earned in academia.

And then they received that letter. That thrice-damned letter dropped from the talons of an owl that soon-after perched on her kitchen windowsill and patiently waited. It took her almost an hour to explain why an _owl_ had delivered a letter to them to Vernon, and almost twice that long to convince him that magic did indeed exist without having any actual proof. It was after she had read the letter that all of her pain and resentment she felt towards her sister was brought to the fore.

The letter explained with little detail that Lily and her husband had something extremely important to discuss with Petunia and her husband, and that they would be dropping by that weekend in the afternoon. They needed their help with something vital that could not be discussed in a letter, and that they would be bringing along a man who could help them to explain the situation.

For the remaining week before the weekend that changed their lives, Petunia could barely be consoled in the fact that her sister only wanted her when she was useful to her own plans. When the weekend finally arrived, it was with unease and not a little bit of bitterness that she allowed the three into her home. It was within half an hour that she wanted to kick them right back out.

Lily brought with her a boy barely four years old, her son Harry. She explained to her sister that shortly before Harry and his twin brother Michael were born, a prophecy was foretold that one of her children were fated to destroy a great evil that plagued their world. Three years earlier on All Hallows Eve, the boys were left in the care of one of her husband's friends while they were needed elsewhere for an important gathering. The friend, as it turned out, was actually in league with the monster bent on destroying the so-called filth of their world and had told his master exactly where to find the two children who could possibly stop him. The man, known as Voldemort, showed up at their home while they were away and attempted to kill her children.

He failed, her husband explained next. Miserably. It turned out that their son Michael was the prophesized child and had managed to deflect a powerful killing curse back upon the evil Lord Voldemort, thus destroying him and everything around him for a hundred yards. When they returned home, fearing that their children were both dead, they found them both perfectly unharmed save for cuts and scrapes from falling rubble and the mark of that powerful curse etched into their skin, saved from further harm by a dome of bright blue light surrounding them. Michael had born the curse scar upon his forehead while his brother bore his upon his breast. It wasn't until they picked up the first child they reached that the dome of light dissipated, proving that Michael was indeed the child of prophecy, for it was he they had picked up.

It was not until later that they had noticed something peculiar. The Book of Names that resided in the Ministry of Magic's Hall of Records of the Department of Mysteries recorded the names of all children born in England who would someday attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The names were usually written in bold black ink, fading to grey if the child died or being crossed out in red ink if they accepted to go to a different school. Harry's name had turned silver.

According to Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School, this had never happened before to his knowledge. They didn't know what to make of it until a few years later when the boys turned three. Three was normal age for accidental magic to begin happening around a magical child. Michael showed plenty of this, but around Harry, nothing happened at all. It was then the three of them started to suspect that the silver turning of Harry's name could mean that the curse, instead of killing him, had instead rendered him a squib. And since the names of squibs had never entered into the Book of Names nor had any magical child turned _into_ a squib, it was only concluded that this was the case.

Voldemort was not truly dead, the Headmaster told them. This meant that Michael would need to be trained extensively in various magical fields to prepare him for his fated task of destroying the Dark Lord once and for all. They feared that because the amount of time they would need to spend with Michael would take away from the time they would be able to spend with Harry (who would never be able to understand or fit into his birth world) that it would be better all around if Harry were raised in the Muggle world. This would allow Harry a normal childhood without the threat of him becoming bitter without his magic.

That was where Petunia and her husband fit in. They wanted Harry to grow up in a place where they knew he would be safe and happy, without having to give him up for adoption to a family they had never met before. It was their hope that Petunia and Vernon would see it within their hearts to take in and raise their son, without telling him of his magical heritage so he could live his life in peace.

Petunia was infuriated. One look into her husband's eyes showed that he was as disgusted with her sister as she was. To abandon their own son because of an unfortunate accident? It was despicable. She was heartily tempted to tell them to bugger off, but she knew that they would only go with their last course of action and indeed put him in a non-magical orphanage. Disgust and anger warred with familial obligation within her, and she excused herself and her husband to the other room so that they could talk.

It was a talk they didn't need, as it was obvious to both of them what they would do. Their own son, who would have been Harry's age, had been born stillborn due to complications that destroyed any chance of Petunia ever having children of her flesh and blood. They simply needed time to cool down before they returned with the verdict so that they would not scare the already terrified child that had sat silent and still on the chair in front of the fireplace, face pale and withdrawn. Both of them could tell that the boy knew very well what was going on despite his young age, and that a long talk was forthcoming as soon as his parents left.

After they returned and agreed to the arrangement, the three wizards left, her sister promising to return the next day with Harry's personal belongings although she left a bag of clothes for the night. This only fueled their ire as they realized they had expected them to agree and it was with a cold goodbye that they retreated.

They had then returned to the living room to find young Harry sitting exactly where he had before, his face hidden behind his midnight hair and shaking almost hard enough to rock the chair. It wasn't until Petunia gathered him within her arms that he finally cried tears of grief and abandonment. When he had finally calmed down, she showed him to his room which now had to be renovated, as they had not had the heart to change the room from a nursery back to a second bedroom. Until it was done to his satisfaction, she promised, he could stay in the guestroom. He left him to rest after the events of the day and set about dinner, which was a rather withdrawn affair.

A year later, they decided that England held too many painful memories to continue living there. Vernon put in for a transfer to their offices in New York and they left only a few weeks later. However, the memories were not the only reason they left. The most important reason was the fear that once the Potters discovered that they had been wrong about Harry – horribly wrong – that they would take their son back and destroy their small family.

Harry, as it turned out, was far from a squib. It was a year before he revealed this fact to his foster parents, fearful of their rejection of what he could do. As it was, Harry had such a strong control over his powers that whatever magical thing he did was not accidental at all, but extremely deliberate. His control was so precise and so accurate, that the Potters never realized that what happened around Harry was magic at all.

So they left as quickly and quietly as possible, selling their house and moving as far away from England as they could. It did not take long for them to settle into their new home, and in fact they found they were much happier there. If Lily and James Potter ever wondered where they had gone, the Dursleys didn't know about it and very much preferred it that way. To accept them back in their lives would cause nothing but heartache. Especially for poor Harry, who had never really gotten over the fact that his parents could care less about him simply because he did not have magic.

Adjusting to one of the United States' busiest cities and strange Americanisms was probably one of the hardest things they had ever done. It wasn't until Harry was in middle school that they had finally felt comfortable in their new lifestyle, one the Dursleys had to admit was vastly better than their old, as with the transfer of offices came a huge promotion for Vernon, which excelled him through the ranks even faster than before. Anything strange or bizarre New York pushed on them passed right over their heads without a second thought; when you raised such a powerfully magical child as Harry, _strange_ was no longer all that strange in comparison.

Breakfast was a lighthearted affair. Harry's normally cheerful, playful demeanor seemed to have been restored during his shower. His smiles reached his eyes this time and his nightmares were seemingly forgotten for the time being. The miniature food-fight between Vernon and Harry, which had become a sort of daily ritual over the years, was presided over by Petunia who mock scowled over the mess her husband and pseudo son were making all over her pristine kitchen floor. It seemed Vernon had won this time as a piece of bacon clung off the side of Harry's stylized silver-framed glasses. He feigned innocence when his wife glared at him, who only rolled her eyes in exasperation at his response.

As usual, Vernon begged off having to help clean up the mess by needing to go to work as he hastily gathered his things. With an amused grin, Harry retrieved the broom from the cupboard and began sweeping the floor while Vernon kissed his wife goodbye and ruffled Harry's hair into and even bigger rat's nest than usual, promising to be home by dinner. A short while later they retreated to the den with a hot pot of tea, a habit none of them could seem to give up.

"Vernon and I were wondering where you would like to go for your birthday this year," Petunia said, fixing their teas. Harry thought for a moment, before shrugging.

"I haven't really thought about it. It's still a few weeks away, yet."

"Are there any places that come to mind?" Harry shook his head and sipped thoughtfully at his tea.

"Not immediately, no…. Why don't we just have something simple this year? Maybe the three of us could just go out to dinner or something." Petunia hid a mischievous smile behind her teacup.

"Not four of us?" At his perplexed look, she clarified. "Wouldn't you like to invite Warren along?" She laughed at the heavy blush that stained his cheeks at the name.

Warren Worthington was a handsome young man only a few years older than Harry himself. Several years ago, when the concern of raising a magical child while not having any knowledge of the subject became a priority, they had met a man named Charles Xavier, who offered them a chance to give Harry the education he needed in regards to his unusual powers. He called it the Institute, and although it was a school founded for the training of mutants, Harry's uniqueness was such that they could train him in his craft and control as well.

Not wanting to part with Harry for long periods at a time, they agreed on the condition that it would only be until Harry had a better grasp of what it was, exactly, that he was dealing with, and only if Harry could still live with them during parts of his training. It was fortunate, of course, that the Westchester mansion was only a fifteen minute drive away from their home. It was at this school that Harry met Warren, who was not actually a student of the school having no unique power that needed to be trained but was instead a rare visitor. He was aptly nicknamed Angel for the large, white wings that sprouted from his back and enabled him the ability to fly, an ability that fascinated Harry to no end.

Warren was drawn to Harry by the pure exuberance and blunt openness he portrayed, while Harry was drawn to Warren by natural curiosity. Over the years their tentative friendship grew into a subtle courtship as they danced carefully around each other and their growing attractions. This dance amused Harry's foster parents and the others at the Institute considerably, and Warren's once tri-yearly visits to the Institute became much more frequent, and only, of course, if Harry himself was there. It also gave them ample ammunition to tease the both of them with.

Harry fidgeted for a good few moments before narrowing his eyes at her with a pout (not that he would ever admit to pouting). She covered her mouth to hide her smile.


	15. The IDEK Creature!Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shades of Grey:
> 
> Creature!Harry/Neville I never came up with a summary for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, um... no idea. I got bored and started writing one day. This is also the only fic I've ever started where I did not have a summary before I began. (Well, the first.)

Prologue/Background

000

Gaia was lost.

Her beloved planet, Her creation, was slowly being torn apart. The Earth was at war, war between those of Humankind, Her brother's creations. Light and Dark forever dueling and tearing Her planet apart with their constant feuding. It seemed it would be that way forever...

The pain tore at Her, for she was one with Her planet and the planet was one with Her. She was Earth and Earth was She.

Then it dawned on Her. There was Light and there was Dark... But where was the Shadow? The Shadow, which was born from the Light but lived in the Dark... That was the key.

She focused her will and power and love of Her world. She would give Life to the Shadow, a form and their own powers, to which to quell the feud between Light and Dark. To ensure they become and stay forever equal.

Thus was the Kizra'kyn. The Shadow Keepers.

They did their purpose. Dark and Light were quelled and the Earth, and She, was at peace.

But the Kizra'kyn were dying. Their power was too great and was killing them from within.

Thus Gaia created the Stabilizers. The humans destined to become the Mate of their Kizra'kyn counterparts. But even then the power of the Kizra'kyn shone through. The children were never half blood but always full blooded Kizra'kyn.

Earth continued to age. Peace reigned, with only the random Dark Age.

The Kizra'kyn were becoming obsolete.

They died quickly, for they were being hunted by Humankind.

But one was always sure to live, for without their presence balancing the Earth, there would be chaos. However, their powers stayed dormant, their true forms kept from sometimes even themselves as they slipped among Humankind, masquerading as one of the species.

But the Last would be awakened.

For Chaos was coming, and it would not be deterred.

000

Chapter One

000

It was a very nice day outside. Not too hot, considering it was summer, and certainly not as scorching as it had been the year before.

Harry desperately wished to go outside. Unfortunately, he was stuck inside doing schoolwork and (to Hermione's insistent prodding) making actual lesson plans for the Defense Association. And she wasn't going to let him out of it with the threat that if she didn't see a lesson plan out of him within the week she would make one herself.

Harry dreaded what Hermione would come up with. She'd probably assign homework.

Added to his busy schedule was a constant stream of mail, either from those in the D.A or from either Remus, Tonks, or Mad-Eye, following a routine check-up every other day. Although, however annoying, Harry supposed he was grateful for the work. Harry knew that without it he would certainly have done nothing else but brood himself into a pit of depression over Sirius's death.

Harry shoved the thought away forcefully before he could dwell on it.

He stretched in his chair, flexing his fingers. He supposed a short break wouldn't do much harm. He stood from his desk and looked out of the window into the perfectly normal garden of number four. With a sigh, he turned from it and left the room.

Vernon was at work, Dudley was out who-knows-where beating up who-knows-who, and Petunia was in the kitchen fixing lunch. She fixed him with a fierce glare, which he ignored, and he slipped out the front door.

He mused, idly, on where to go. Dudley and his gang of troublemakers would be either out smoking somewhere or beating up some unfortunate kid. Meaning they were at the park. Harry made a quick decision and headed up Privet Drive to Magnolia Crescent.

As he passed number six a sound like a loud whip sounded from behind him. He turned half-heartedly, knowing he wouldn't see anyone. Sure enough, no one was there. But Harry knew they were still watching him; Dumbledore still had members of the Order following him in case there was trouble.

He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and looked up at the sky while he thought. Remus? No, Remus had written to say he wouldn't be in contact for at least a week. Harry suspected a mission. Tonks? No, she was a bit too clumsy to be subtle enough. It couldn't be Mad-Eye, otherwise Harry knew he would be hearing more than just the sound of Alastor Moody Apparating. So it must be Mundungus. Anyone else, Harry knew, was either busy at work or on a mission or something else. Harry checked to see if he was right.

"Hey, Mundungus."

"S'up, 'arry." The invisible Mundungus replied automatically, before cursing himself. The back-alley thief took off the invisibility cloak, still cussing, and cast a doleful eye at the grinning Potter.

He and Harry had built a quick friendship over the summer. Mundungus was the only one who wouldn't keep anything from him. And even if he tried, it was dead easy to wrangle it out of him. It stemmed from Mundungus' true sorrow over last summer's incident and Harry's tightlipped assurance of keeping Mundungus' 'accidents' out of Order ears. Harry kept quiet (because, truly, he couldn't really care) and Mundungus trusted him.

"You're too fast for your own good, y'know," Mundungus griped. "Dunno why Dumbledore don't put you in the Order, 'gardless of age." Harry's grin was brought down to a frown and he shrugged.

"I don't pretend to understand it either, Dung. But you know how Dumbledore is." Mundungus grinned.

"Aye, a sly old codger, 'e is. Er... y'mind not mentioning this, now?" Mundungus looked around anxiously. "Y'wasn't supposed to know I was 'ere, and all." Harry shook his head.

"Same as always, Dung." Mundungus gave him a grateful smile and disappeared under the cloak once more.

Harry continued on to the park.

He arrived to a scene much like he was expecting: Dudley, along with his smaller-sized but just as stupid gang of lackeys, Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon, had ganged up on a boy who looked no older than eight. Harry scowled as the dishonorable act of ganging up on a kid half your age and a third your size.

They hadn't seen Harry yet, so the bespectacled boy took advantage of the fact, shooting a warning look to where Mundungus had released a choice set of curses, and snuck closer to hear what Dudley was saying, emphasizing every other word with a punch. Piers was, of course, the one holding the bruised boy's arms back while the other three watched with jeering faces, Dennis holding a cigarette in his hand.

"This," punch, "ought to," punch, "teach you," punch, "to mess with," punch, "me!" Dudley rammed a meaty fist into the boy's stomach. The eight-year-old moaned.

"Please, let me go! I promise I won't never call ya a right old gorilla again! Me mum's gonna be so worried, she is!" Dudley and his gang snickered heartlessly.

"Aw, poor mama's boy, gonna run home to mommy and cry?" mocked Malcolm, a sneer on his usual disgusting face. The boy, whose eyes and cheeks were red from crying, sniffled.

"Please!" the boy whimpered as Dudley aimed another punch. Harry had had enough.

"Let him go, Dudley," Harry said dryly from behind the group. "If you break another kid's ribs like last time the police aren't going to believe it was in self defense again." Dudley whirled around in surprise, before his face settled in disgruntlement.

"Oh, it's you. Go away Potter, can't you see I'm busy?" Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Yes," Harry said sarcastically. "Real busy man you are, beating up on an eight-year-old. Now let him go." He glared at Piers, who let go of the boy's arms and backed away in fright. Malcolm, Dennis, and Gordon were looking nervously between their gang leader and the "hardened hooligan" from St. Brutus's. Dudley looked torn for a moment before looking away from Harry's glare and turning to his friends.

"C'mon," Dudley said gruffly. "I bet Mum's done with lunch." The four gratefully followed their leader up Magnolia Road. Harry turned to the kid, who was shivering and looking at him with frightened eyes.

"Y-you're not gonna hurt me, are ya?" the kid asked in a small voice as Harry kneeled in front of him.

"No," Harry said, giving him a small smile. "You're safe with me." The fright faded slowly from the kid's eyes, replaced by curiosity. He opened his mouth to say something then hesitated, before blurting out a sentence and blushing.

"Is it true that you once beat up four kids 'cause they called you somethin' not nice?" Harry raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Where'd you hear that?" The kid shuffled nervously.

"From a kid in the park," he answered shyly. Harry laughed lightly.

"No, that's not true. What else did you hear?" The kid was beginning to look excited as he listed everything that he had heard.

"I heard that you once beat up a teacher at St. Brutus's and now all of 'em are 'fraid of you. And that you're the toughest kid in your school and you stuff other kids heads down the toilets when they don't do what ya want. And that you once cussed out a cop 'cause the he took a knife away from ya." Harry shook his head in amusement, glancing at an empty spot where a snort sounded.

"You shouldn't believe everything that you hear," Harry said, standing up. "Now, where do you live? You won't be able to make it back on your own with you like this." The kid told him his address, now looking at Harry with awed and adoration-filled eyes. Harry took his hand and began to walk with him home, picking him up when the kid whimpered in pain and limped.

"Me name's Michael Davis," the boy stated proudly a few moments after Harry had picked him up. "I already know who you are. You're Harry Potter. All the kids talk about ya, but I'll tell 'em right! I'll tell 'em you saved me from Dudley's gang they won't talk bad about you no more." Harry smiled softly, though it was tinged with a slight bitterness. Harry sighed when the boy jumped at the sound of Mundungus Apparating.

They soon arrived at Michael's house. His mother, a blond woman with bright, blue eyes opened the door and descended on her son with a flurry of "I was so worried about you!" and "don't ever scare me so again, young man!". Michael all but flung himself into his mother's arms, talking animatedly about what had happened.

"And then Harry came and told Dudley to stop and Dudley stopped and he and his goons left, Ma!" The woman stared at her son with mixed horror and worry before rounding on Harry, who stood uncomfortably a few feet away with his hands in his back pocket. She eyed him warily for a moment.

"Thank you, young man," she said a bit stiffly. "I'm afraid I can't repay you at the moment, but my boy's so dear to me..." Harry smiled nervously and held up his hands.

"No problem, ma'am. Dudley shouldn't be picking on kids like Michael anyway." Harry smiled down sincerely at Michael, who was still looking at him with worshipful eyes. "If Dudley picks on you or your friends again, just tell me, alright? I'll make sure he won't bother you." Michael nodded while avidly while his mother frowned with disapproval. Harry smiled nervously.

"See you later, Michael, Mrs. Davis." Harry turned and hightailed it out of there.

Dudley was waiting for him, alone, in the ally on Magnolia Crescent. He was glaring furiously, an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

"Who do you think you are, Potter?" he spat, searching his pockets for a lighter. He found one but Harry grabbed both the lighter and the cigarette before he lit it. Instead, Harry lit it himself and inhaled, staring at him evenly with cold eyes.

"I think, Dud, it's about time you and me had a little chat," he said, his voice like ice. Dudley shivered but didn't bother taking the cigarette back, nor the lighter which was put away in Harry's back pocket.

"Talk quickly Potter, I don't want to have to listen to you any longer than I have to," Dudley said, eyeing the cigarette with greedy eyes. Harry exhaled slowly, releasing a fume of smoke.

"I want you to stop picking on kids who are barely learning their times tables. Stick to your own age group, understand?" Dudley grated his teeth together in agitation, beady eyes narrowed in anger.

"Why should I listen to you?" Harry inhaled another lung-full, smirking.

"You owe me a life debt," he said smugly. "And you know it." Dudley clenched his hands.

"Fine," Dudley snarled. "I'll leave the brats alone." Harry eyed him with emotionless eyes.

"Especially Michael Davis," where Harry's final words before he exhaled and threw the cigarette onto the ground, crushing it with his heel. Dudley glared and stalked onto Privet Drive. Harry watched him go with a feeling of smugness.

"Oh, and Dung?" he said casually as his overweight cousin rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. "I'd appreciate if this wasn't mentioned."

"Right-o, 'arry."

000

July thirtieth came upon Harry so suddenly he couldn't believe it. Vernon, who had every second and fourth Tuesday off, had kept Harry busy all day doing work. Harry was made to wash the cars (their new company station wagon and the minivan Dudley demanded for now that he could 'drive'), paint the sun-faded fence with a new coat of paint and whitewash, polish the brass number four, and clean the garage. Along with his regular chores: tend the garden, wash the windows, clean Dudley's room, dust the living room, clean the bathrooms, wash the dishes, and clean the oven.

Harry could have sworn he was developing a sunburn in the now over-a-hundred heat. It was so hot he had taken of his shirt and donned a nearly see-through undershirt, which clung to his sweat-slicked body like a second skin. He had to endure not only Dudley's smugness as the fat oaf watched him from either porch eating from a large bowl of ice cream but also the neighborhood girls as they repeatedly walked past the house, staring and giggling like crazy but scattering when Dudley tried to hit on them.

Harry understood why they acted like that around him; his once scrawny physique had toned out some from exercise and Quidditch, and his wild hair had developed a natural wind-swept look his father had once had to work to get. But it still annoyed him as they giggled behind their hands and whispered not so discreetly about how "utterly delectable" he looked in the actually fitting Muggle clothes he had bought earlier that summer, the instant tattoo of a ring of fire he had had Mundungus charm to be permanent for him on his arm as well as a different tattoo on his back, and the two gold hoops he had gotten at a Muggle parlor the same day Dudley begged his mum to get his own ears pierced.

But it was absolutely bloody annoying.

Harry fetched the hose to water off the minivan, blatantly ignoring the giggling brainless dolts leaning on the recently dried fence. That done, he slipped inside for a quick shower and change of clothes before gathering his uncle.

In the beginning of summer, Vernon had enrolled Dudley into a driver's training program. After realizing Harry lived with them also, the instructor demanded that Harry learn too. Dudley, who was only learning to drive cars, had just barely passed the exam the week before. But Harry had requested extra lessons to learn how to control other cars, especially motorcycles after learning that Sirius had left his flying motorcycle, lent to Hagrid all those years ago, to Harry. It's name was the _Black Beauty_ and it was currently under Harry's invisibility cloak in the backyard.

Vernon grumbled the whole way to Harry's lesson, not liking one bit that Harry had to learn nor that Vernon himself had to take him.

"You're bloody well learning how to drive a bloody car, why couldn't you take yourself?" Harry looked at his uncle with non-amused eyes.

"To drive myself there I would have to borrow the car. You've forbidden me the keys. So, pray tell, how am I supposed to drive myself?" Harry said sarcastically.

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy," Vernon growled as they pulled up. "Now get out, and don't you think I'm picking you up!" Harry got out of the car.

The last lesson of his training was over with quicker than normal. Mr. Smith, his instructor, commented on his skill and gave Harry a gift: a helmet and gloves for the motorcycle he knew Harry had, as Harry had told him about it. Harry thanked him and hailed a taxi back to Privet Drive.

It was dinner time when he got back. The Dursleys glared at him as he joined them, but as usual, he ignored them. He retired to his room directly after the meal.

He was planning on staying up until midnight, like he usually did on his birthday. He watched the time tick nearer and nearer until midnight, silently counting down in his head and absently smoking a cigarette out of the pack he stole from Dudley's room. (The good thing about that was Dudley couldn't complain or his parents would know that _he_ smoked.) He never registered the Dursleys settling in for the night, nor Dudley sneaking past his room to the kitchen for the nightly pig-out session. His eyes stayed on the clock.

As the red digital numbers grew closer and closer to twelve, Harry began to feel a weird sensation. It grew stronger as each minute passed, like he had swallowed a bucket of live flobberworms and they were crawling around inside him, from his toes to his fingertips.

Eleven fifty.

The feeling grew stronger, as though the flobberworms had sprouted wings.

Eleven fifty-five.

Now they were pulsing inside of him in tune with his heart beat, growing louder and louder in his ears.

Fifty-nine.

They stood suddenly still. And as the clock struck midnight and the clock downstairs chimed, they exploded in a wave of dizziness and a pain worse, Harry imagined, than the Cruciatus curse. Harry didn't know if he screamed. His throat was sore as though he had but no one was screaming at him through the door for waking them (and possibly the neighbors) up.

The pain was all he knew for what seemed like an eternity. It spread throughout his entire body, shredding him and putting him back together to be shredded once more. It pulsed in his back, as though there was something beneath his skin that wanted to be free from it's captivity, trapped for far, far too long. It burned in his hands, like his fingers were stretching to a length human fingers shouldn't be. The tips were like fire and ice at once underneath his nails, as though something cool and soothing were trying to break free and burning their way through. And oh, how his head was in agony; burning in his eyes, his scalp. It seemed as though every bit of him was debating between fire and ice, burning in one then plunging into the other.

And then it was gone. The pain receded, leaving an unnatural calmness in it's wake. Nothing could faze him, nothing could surprise him, absolutely nothing would destroy his calmness... unless one went against him for then he would be deadly. A sense of utter uncaring prevailed, of total neutrality, of complete and absolute freedom... from emotion.

He opened his eyes, slowly, for the artificial light hurt his stinging orbs. He felt burdened for some reason, off-balanced. He was lying on his stomach on the floor. What was he doing there? What a strange place to be. Slowly, his muscles aching, he lifted himself up. Now on his knees, he frowned at his hands. Were his fingers supposed to be that long? Where his nails supposed to look like metal claws? He tried to stand.

And promptly fell back down, his head spinning.

His sense of balance had abruptly shifted. He didn't understand. It was as though something was weighing him down. He looked behind him as something shifted and froze.

A great pair of dark, grey-purple wings were attached to his back. He frowned. Were they supposed to be there? He supposed so, for they felt right where they were. He flexed them to get a feel for his new appendages. Slowly, he tried to stand up again, positioning his wings to work for him and not against him. Eventually they settled on something and he stood.

He noticed he was a little taller than he should have been, and guessed, correctly, that he was now somewhere in the vicinity of six feet, maybe a couple inches taller at most. He turned around and caught his reflection in the mirror. Again, he froze.

His complexion was much tanner than he remembered it being earlier that day. His face was more pointed, delicately so, with long pointed ears that curved slightly backwards with a second point about a forth of the way from the top pointing out of deep, rich black hair with crimson and navy highlights now down to the small of his back and rather spiked and naturally messy. His eyes were more square, almost rectangular, with soft edges; his pupils were nonexistent, his whites now a crimson grey and the bright, captivating green now even brighter with hints of violet in their drowning depths. They were filled with what looked like a turning, seething mist of multi colors, like an opal that had dissolved and come to rest in his eyes. And as the light hit them, it was as if his eyes were covered with mirror-plated glass how they were hidden from view in an obsidian sheen.

And they ached, his vision blurry and painful. He took off his glasses and the pain dispersed. He could see everything perfect, even thrice as better. Every detail sharp, every little fiber and color jumped out at him. It was as though his senses had tripled: not only his sight, but his smell, his hearing. He could hear someone in the kitchen, chomping away, the sloshing noises as they chewed and gulped. He could smell the food from the feast, twisting about him making him stomach churn as the once delicious food now smelt revolting to his sensitive nostrils. And twined about it was the sour, sweaty scent of his cousin, making him want to retch his dinner on the floor before him. He attempted to block out the sound and smell and succeeded.

He looked at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the pain began, heralding a change that was horribly painful to go through.

He heard a rustle behind him and turned to face nearly a dozen owls and an eagle. Six were standing on a particularly large box and bowed deeply to him once they had his attention, taking off out of the window into the night, as did another who had dropped from it's beak two rather thick Hogwarts envelopes. There was also Pig, with another rather large box, Hedwig also with a package, and Tonks's purple owl Spy with another one. The large, golden eagle stood atop a small, brown paper-wrapped box with a red stamp intoning Delayed Delivery.

He relieved Hedwig, Pig, Spy, and the eagle from their burdens. The owls flew to Hedwig's cage for water but the Eagle stayed put. Then he went to the largest box first and opened it with one of his new, steel-like fingernails, slicing cleanly through the thick tape. Inside was a mountain of sweets and a card signed by every member of the Defense Association; they put their gifts together as one package to save him the trouble of so many owls delivering gifts after midnight to his home.

Hedwig carried his gift from Hermione which came in two parts: a wand-polishing kit with a self-care manual and a book on advanced defense charms. Pig carried gifts from the Weasleys: mince pies and brownies from Molly; _1001 Ways to Prank Your Professor_ , by and from Fred and George Weasley; sweets from Ron, Bill, and Charlie; and an upgraded Sneakoscope, which would only shriek if there was personal mischief against it's owner from Ginny.

From Spy were his gifts from Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus. Remus sent him a flute made out of rare grey dragon bone; Tonks sent a deck of playing cards with famous Quidditch players on them, who winked or smiled at him. From Moody came a holster with an adjustable strap, to put his wand anywhere "but in your back pocket". Mundungus sent along a strange necklace on which hung a black crystal that he stole from a vampire in Africa which nobody seemed to want to buy from him.

After briefly glancing at the books, Sneakoscope, and flute, adjusting the wand holster, putting on the necklace, and eyeing the sweets with a sense of nausea, he turned to the eagle, watching him from his perch atop the smallest package. He took up the letter first, with his name written upon it in gently, curling letters. On the scroll was a seal in violet-crimson wax of a large bird with what looked like a metal body. He slit the seal easily and unrolled it.

_Dear Harry,_

_If you are reading this, my son, then I did not survive to see you grow. It fills me with sorrow that this has come to pass like I feared, but had hoped, it would not._

_By now you should have turned sixteen years old and come into your inheritance, like I was forced to on my sixteenth birthday. However, if you have not awoken it is because there is no need for you to have. But, as I again fear, the situation is dire enough to call for it. It would not shock you now to learn what you are, for your new sense does not call for it. I feared my awakening for I knew that it would come, but after I feared nothing. Nothing, that is, until you were born._

_This power we share, that I have passed onto you with your birth, is our greatest secret. Not even Dumbledore knew, nor knows, what we are for we are the last of the great and powerful Shadow Keepers of Gaia. Your birthday has brought to you the powers of a Kizra'kyn._

_The book I have enclosed has been passed down through our line for millennia, from Heir to Heir. In all of this time, you are only the fifth to have awoken to such a threat as the destruction of the world. The book holds everything you will need to know about your new being, everything about a Kizra'kyn. It is written in our language, but your awakening should give you the power to read it._

_I know from experience that you are confused and disoriented. You are not human, so the emotions that come from being human no longer apply. You will still feel emotion, but it will be different and less powerful than what a human emanates. You will feel happiness, sorrow, love, and anger, but it will not be all-consuming. There will be times when the calmness of a Kizra'kyn will be shattered, and when that is so you will be a danger to the one who provoked you but not for long._

_I must warn you, my child, that there comes a price with this power. You will be Immortal, untouchable by time and poison of the body. But to the poison of the soul you will be vulnerable. The power of a Shadow Keeper is too great, and it eats us from within._

_Therefor you must find your Stabilizer, the one who will ground your power and restrain it from destroying you. A Stabilizer is the Kizra'kyn form of a 'soul-mate' and are always human. Every Kizra'kyn has one, and without them our line would have ended forever and brought chaos upon the world. Find your Stabilizer, your destined Mate; keep them close and safe, and never cause them harm of either body nor mind nor heart._

_There is one last thing, my son. You must understand that our purpose is balance. In matters of Light and Dark we are the Grey, the Shadow. We hold no loyalties to anyone but ourselves and our Mates and Gaia, and when the time comes, our children as well. Anyone who attempts otherwise are fighting a futile battle._

_Know that I love you, my Harrius, and that I am very proud. You have a hard future but you will prevail._

_For you are the Last and with you shall Chaos be stopped._

_James Charlus Potter_

Harry stood silently for a moment, half expecting to cry or feel shocked, or at least be angry at never being able to be normal. But nothing came, only a calm acceptance.

He turned to the package and tore off the paper. There was a small, black leather-bound book with a single gold symbol on the cover: three inverted triangles, one inside the other; inside of the three triangles was a square, at the top, and beneath it a circle. Harry was almost surprised, as he had had that symbol tattooed on his right shoulder-blade earlier that summer, the other tattoo Mundungus charmed for him. He touched the symbol lightly and blinked slowly when another package came into existence on his bed, with a note attached that read, ' _This is your birthday gift. His name is Zero, treat him well. - Father_ '.

He opened the box. Inside was what looked like a black, perfectly round thing the size of a dragon egg. He touched it and it felt warm. It shook at his touch and he withdrew his hand, frowning as the black sphere cracked and splintered into several pieces. A furry, black lump shook itself free from the broken shell pieces and uncurled.

It looked like a miniature Sirius, with a crimson muzzle, stomach, three crimson stripes on it's back, two crimson stripes on each leg, three forked tails, and two horn stubs. When it blinked open it's eyes to look at him blearily, they were a pitch black that looked like true obsidian. It yawned cutely, blinked sleepily, licked his hand with an extremely dark mahogany colored tongue, and went to sleep. Harry stared at it for a moment, then picked it up and put it on his pillow.

He took the book and read for the rest of the night.

Even in his new state, he was interested by what he learned. As he read more and more until the book was finished and read it again thrice, he remembered with irony when he had argued with Dumbledore only a few months before on the subject of humanity. He had yelled that he did not want to be human so he would not feel the pain that came with it. Well, he got his wish. He almost found it amusing.

He learned that Kizra'kyn were nearly emotionless because there wasn't enough room inside of them to hold it. Their powers took it away. It was also because they were neither Dark nor Light and emotions and how you used those emotions helped determined what you were or would become. However, the emotions they did still feel centered and depended on their surroundings: they felt love and protectiveness and possessiveness for their Mates; protectiveness for children; loyalty to both and Gaia and their own kind; and anger at those who would harm either. They could feel amusement and annoyance, though they would not and could not express it save in rare instances.

He learned of his powers as a Kizra'kyn: control over fire, water, wind, and earth; the ability to read or leave thoughts in other's minds; to read another's soul. He could tell when another was lying even without using either of the latter powers and could see through illusions or fake forms, like invisibility spells or cloaks, Polyjuice Potions, or animagi forms. His physical power was strong as well. Endurance, strength, speed, all of it was enhanced along with natural senses.

He learned Kizra'kyn could not eat human-prepared food without getting sick because of the way it was prepared; his kind usually hunted their own food. They also did not need much sleep; another thing their powers took from them although they did not feel the weariness that would come from not sleeping. He learned how to retract his wings, a wingspan of sixteen feet with metal plates covering the back, and that he could, at will, change into a creature known as a Roc, a large grey-purple bird that could call forth metal armor to cover it's body and had a second set of wings used only for battle. He also learned how to use the wind to illusion his ears and hands, but decided to keep his new eyes for anyone to see.

He learned of his history and duty as a Shadow Keeper: to keep the balance of Dark and Light equal. He learned non-humans - Light or Dark, animal or otherwise - would obey him with no exceptions, although for the more independent of species he might have to prove himself. And he learned of the Stabilizers, and how he would know his own.

Stabilizers were always born around the same time, pinpointed to only a few days, as their Kizra'kyn counterparts. They were the opposites of a Shadow Keeper, empathic to anything living, with very little of their own personal magic to leave room for the power they would siphon off of their Kizra'kyn Mate, power which they could use themselves but generally kept and tamed to return when their Mate had need of it. Only a Stabilizer could calm an enraged Kizra'kyn.

He then read about his new 'pet', Zero. Zero was a true Grim, the familiars of Kizra'kyn. Grims were also Grey creatures, though they were considered Dark by the unknowing.

He suddenly realized he had not opened the other two letters. He retrieved the untouched parchment and first opened the one bearing the wax seal of the Ministry of Magic. Two pieces of parchment tumbled out; he picked up the more important-looking one.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_ it read.

_We are pleased to inform you that the results from your Ordinary Wizarding Exams have been tallied. Congratulations on your twelve O.W.L.s. You many find your complete results on the enclosed parchment._

_Sincerely,_

_Griselda Marchbanks  
Head Wizarding Examinations Authority_

Harry blinked slowly and looked at the other sheet. It listed the classes he had taken currently. Next to each of the classes were three letters and a number, telling the result from the Demonstrative and Written Examinations, the overall grade, and how many O.W.L.s earned from it. He had an overall 'Outstanding' in Defense, Potions, and Charms; an 'Exceeds Expectation' in Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, and Herbology; an 'Acceptable' each for History and Astronomy; and a 'Poor' for Divination.

He guessed it wasn't _too_ bad.

In the Hogwarts envelope, which he picked up next, there was the usual start of term letter, a list of the books and additional items he would need, and a personal congratulations from McGonagall for making her N.E.W.T.s class. Also enclosed the direct permission from Dumbledore to continue the Defense Association, so long he, the Headmaster, was kept up to speed on the progress of each student. He wanted to be informed if any particular student had an aptitude for it.

Harry frowned. He wasn't very sure at the moment whether he trusted Dumbledore. After all, had the machiavellian Headmaster not kept certain secrets from him, perhaps Sirius would still be alive...

Glancing at his reflection again briefly, he sat down and wrote thank you notes to everyone, enclosing a copy of the finished D.A. lesson plan in Hermione's.

Sunrise came all too quickly, dawning on another busy day.

000

Chapter Two

000

Harry left his motorcycle with a nearby conductor, who assured him it would be safe on the journey to Hogwarts.

Harry was glad to be rid of the Dursleys, though it wasn't the all-encompassing feeling of freedom like it usually was. After another month of putting up with his relatives, now trying to avoid him at all costs, and being forbidden to visit the Weasleys for even a little respite, Harry was feeling less than amiable towards the esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts. Harry left the Dursleys that morning as early as he could without having to stand around on a platform waiting to be allowed on the train.

The platform was nearly empty as it was only eight in the morning with three hours still to board before the train left. From those that were there he received plenty of strange looks. He had worn a pair of dark black leather pants, a black sleeveless silk shirt, and a leather vest, ignoring his robes completely. He was stared at not only for the unfamiliar Muggle clothes but for his new appearance: the long hair, tanned skin, and tall, athletic frame.

Carrying his helmet in one gloved hand (both the helmet and gloves were charmed to accommodate his new hands and ears), a carry-on over the same shoulder, and an only slightly larger Zero (as Grims grew slowly) under the other, he made his way to a compartment to wait for Ron and Hermione. He chose randomly and stashed away his carry-on, putting the snoozing Grim atop it.

One by one students and families began to show up, the platform becoming busier and busier as the morning wore on. Harry was greeted by passing members of the D.A. as they arrived, occasionally chatting with them before they went off to find housemates. He noticed how some of them stared at his new appearance and especially his hair, which looked even messier than usual due to the bike ride, and his tattoo, exclaiming over his new look until he glared at them in slight annoyance and they backed off.

Seamus and Dean arrived early into ten o'clock and talked with him for nearly half an hour until they, too, left. Luna stopped by briefly and only blinked at him once before politely (or Luna-ly) ignoring the changes.

Neither the Weasleys, nor Hermione, had shown up yet.

At a quarter to eleven, Neville stopped by his compartment for a quick chat. Neville had matured considerably. He had lost the baby fat of youth and was now an admirable five-nine with a well-toned body. Harry almost didn't recognize him, save for the familiar sparkling blue eyes. Harry felt the unnatural calmness that had developed with his changing crumble slightly and something churn inside his belly, a strange, almost uncomfortable sensation. It was how he used to feel whenever Cho had praised him the year before, but stronger, more defined.

Neville acted strangely around him, glancing at his eyes and fidgeting as though nervous. There was a strange magic around him, but Neville made an excuse to leave before Harry could analyze it thoroughly. Harry thought back to what the book had said about Stabilizers, but before he had the chance to wonder if perhaps Neville was one, was _his_ , Ron, Ginny, and Hermione showed up.

After a whole minute of staring in absolute shock, they greeted him enthusiastically.

"Harry, it's great to see you!" Hermione gushed, enveloping him in a hug. Harry offered a small smile in return. "Wow, you got tall!"

"Yes, it is nice to see you as well. Thank you." Hermione frowned slightly at nearly monotonous voice but smiled back anyway.

"Smashing, mate!" Ron said, thumping him on the back. "Hey, Hermione's right, you're taller than I am." Indeed, Harry surpassed Ron but only by less than an inch.

"Is that a tattoo?" Ginny asked, also enveloping him in a hug. "A pity you couldn't join us this summer," she added. The four sat down as the train began to move.

"I apologize," Harry said smoothly. "Dumbledore thought it wise to keep me where I was." He smiled softly, slightly forced. "And yes, it is a tattoo." This time all three frowned. Ginny paused, about to say something, then continued hesitantly.

"Harry? Is something... wrong? You seem a little... well, cold. Distant." Harry looked into her eyes expressionlessly and it was then she noticed their appearance. She gasped, her eyes flying wide. A hand flew up to cover her mouth.

"Oh, _Harry_! Your eyes!" Ron and Hermione looked confused before they looked at his eyes also. Ron recoiled and Hermione copied Ginny almost exactly.

"Harry?" Hermione reached out a hand and gently touched the thick, spiky strands of tri-colored hair; it felt downy under her fingertips and her shock melted away slightly for awe. She studied his face with narrow, scrutinizing eyes. "You've changed," she said softly, fastidiously avoiding staring in to his eyes. "You look a lot like your mother, now that I think about it." Harry blinked slowly at her.

"Yes. I do," he agreed. Ron stared at him.

"You look like a girl with that hair," he stated bluntly. Harry looked at him with hard eyes. Ron looked away.

"You seem almost inhuman with your new look. So pretty," Ginny said. She giggled. "Oh, you're going to get hell from the girls this year!" Harry smiled grimly. Ginny was right. Girls would be chasing him either for his looks or his money or his fame. At times all three. However, they would find themselves trying fruitlessly once he found his Stabilizer.

"So what's up, mate?" Ron asked, digging in a pocket for a chocolate frog. "What's with the new look?" Harry thought for a moment, wondering if he should tell them. Then he decided he didn't care what they thought, but perhaps revealing the truth would bring harm to his Stabilizer since they could not harm himself.

"I decided a... _change_ was in order." He almost smirked at the irony. He feigned a hurt look, realizing he was going to have to _act_ like he had emotions even if he did not _feel_ them. "Don't you like it?" Ginny giggled.

"Of course we do, Harry! It was just surprising, that's all." In an effort to change the subject, Hermione spoke up.

"So how did you do on your O.W.L.s, Harry?" She looked excited, but Ron turned suddenly sullen. "I got fourteen! Isn't that amazing? It's the highest score you can receive!"

"I got nine," Ron muttered, slumping in his seat, glaring out of the window. Hermione frowned.

"Oh, Ron, don't act like that. That's a perfectly respectable amount." She turned back to Harry. "How many did you get, Harry?" she asked him, ignoring Ron's glare. Harry glanced at Ron for a moment in slight confusion but shrugged it off.

"Twelve," he said casually. Ron's face grew darker and both Hermione and Ginny beamed.

"Congratulations, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, giving him a sideways hug.

"That's wonderful, Harry!" Ginny added, clapping. Ron scowled.

"Of course," the freckled boy spat, "the Great Harry Potter would get a high score. Don't you know he's perfect?" He stood up and stormed out of the compartment, the other three staring after him.

"That brat!" Ginny scowled, arms crossed. "I can't believe it! He's acting so rotten about his scores, when he _knows_ he got one more point that the Twins did." Hermione sighed

"I was hoping he had gotten over his jealousy." She smiled at Harry in sympathy. "I guess not. Well, I guess I better get started on prefect duties. See you later, Harry, Ginny." She smiled once more and left.

Ginny looked at her watch. "Oh, darn! I was supposed to meet Dean ten minutes ago. Bye, Harry!" With a wave, she too was gone.

(Arrive at Hogwarts. Feast. Etc.)

Harry followed Neville out of the hall silently. Neville seemed to be in deep thought and didn't hear Harry approach him, but Harry doubted anyone would have unless he wanted them to. He spoke softly, making Neville start.

"You are a Stabilizer." Neville turned, panic in his eyes. He calmed almost at once.

"Harry! You scared me! You shouldn't sneak up on people like that, you know, you could give someone a heart attack." Neville rubbed his chest, panic fading from his eyes. Nervousness replaced it as Harry repeated himself.

"You are a Stabilizer." Harry tilted his head in an almost childish manner. "Are you not?" Neville fidgeted slightly.

"Er... how did you...? Um, nevermind, I guess that would be a stupid question. Yes, I'm a Stabilizer." Harry's new strange colored eyes pierced his own, making Neville fidget even more.

"You are my Stabilizer." Neville swallowed. The Hufflepuff-like Gryffindor was hoping Harry wouldn't find out so soon. It was enough that Neville agonized over his year-mate's reaction to what it meant and keeping tabs on his raging crush on the raven-haired Adonis. Having Harry partnered with him during their D.A. meetings was bad enough.

But Neville doubted Harry would act irrationally. After all, Kizra'kyn weren't known for having emotional outbursts. At least, not often. Still, Neville grew even more nervous as Harry took a few steps closer, standing so close to him Neville could count the different swirls of color in Harry's eyes, eyes which were currently looking at him in contemplation.

"Good," the changed-Harry murmured. He grasped the surprised brown-haired boy's chin in a strong but gentle grip and tilted his head up for a chaste kiss.

Neville blinked slowly, staring up at him with surprised eyes and swallowed.

"You... you're not... upset about that?" he said nervously, absently aware that he was being backed up into a wall.

Harry's eyes were glowing faintly with rising lust and instead of answering, he bent his head and nipped lightly at Neville's exposed collarbone. Neville's breath hitched both in surprise and to suck in a delighted whimper. Harry's hands found Neville's waist, and the shorter boy soon found himself pinned between stone and flesh. Flesh that was both soft _and_ hard while Harry suckled and nipped his skin with extremely pointed teeth. He couldn't help it and he moaned. Harry growled softly in response.

"Does it look like I am upset?"

Suddenly, the sounds of hundreds of footfalls began to near them as students left the Great Hall for bed.

"H-harry, I th-think maybe we should m-move this somewhere..." Neville didn't get to finish that sentence, for Harry had kissed him with bruising force to stifle Neville's gasp of shock as they melded with the shadows and were deposited in an empty room, one that reminded Neville faintly of the Room of Requirement.

Only now without the bookshelves, tables, and Dark Detectors and instead what looked like a very comfortable bed, a clothes cupboard, and another door.

"You need not bond with me if you are not ready," Harry murmured softly, guiding them to the bed. "But I need to have you with me or I fear it will destroy us both." Neville nodded; he understood as he had felt the growing need to be near his counterpart since his birthday. But he still blushed as he was picked up and gently set on the bed, Harry's warmth spooned against him quickly after that.

"But what about the others?" Neville murmured sleepily, snuggling under the covers.

"Do not worry of them." Neville nodded softly and swiftly fell into the deepest sleep he'd had since his birthday.


	16. The One With Camelot (Sort of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legacy:
> 
> An enchanted sword encased in stone for nearly two decades. A dark enemy waiting to steal a throne not meant for them. An extraordinary boy with hands that heal and a gift with animals. A destiny waiting to be fulfilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was watching The Sword and the Stone on Disney Channel one day, and I thought, "Hm. What cliche have I not done yet?" I was going somewhere with this, I swear. Then I lost the map and gave up.

Prologue

000

_"Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil is rightwise king born of England."_  
–Disney's The Sword in the Stone

The message arrived at midnight, carried by an exhausted man on a just as exhausted horse. The man refused any and all luxury offered to him, insisting that his message was of utmost importance.

Baffled by the man's strange behavior, a servant lead the tired and weary man to his Lordship's study, where currently the Lord and Lady of the castle were entertaining her Ladyship's only brother, visiting from the same land as the messenger.

It had come as if overnight, the messenger had told the two men and woman, gratefully accepting but not drinking from the offered mug of hot lemon water. It had not been considered dangerous, which was why word had not come sooner, but over a matter of a few days, the illness had spread and completely taken over. Four words summed up his urgency in great detail.

"The King is dying."

At these words, both men and woman rose in alarm, all wearing similar looks of astonishment and horror.

The visiting brother, considered the greatest healer in the land, was needed at once or else the King would surely die. Without wasting a single moment, the healer grabbed a coat and his bag, mounted his unprepared horse, and rode off at once. Given a fresh mount and a satchel of food, the messenger was sent after him.

In less than half the time it normally took, healer and messenger arrived at the majestic castle. The healer nearly flew off of his tired horse in his haste to get to the King's chambers, his abrupt arrival startling the young nursemaid and bringing a look of relief to the face of a wizened man in long, bright blue robes. The healer descended on the sickly king in an instant, one hand latching onto a clammy wrist to check the King's pulse, the other to the King's forehead to check for his temperature.

The king opened weary hazel eyes, normally bright and dancing but now glassy and dull, captured fingers moving to intertwine with the healer's. His normally messy, wind-swept, rat's nest of hair was limp and damp; once tanned, bronze skin now an unhealthy grey pallor. In only a few days time, the one who was considered the bravest, noblest man in all the land was reduced to a weak, bedridden mess of sickness.

"Salazar," the King said in a weak, husky whisper, "my old friend. What joy it brings me to see your face before I die. It is the only thing I want to see."

"Hush, Godric," the healer admonished gently, panic flaring in his deep emerald eyes. Neither noticed the only other two occupants of the room leave quietly, the wizened old man ushering the young girl out. "You aren't dying." Godric's fingers tightened around Salazar's.

"It is too late for your healing powers, Salazar," the ailing king said gently. "I am dying. We both know it is the truth."

Breathing in shakily, Salazar cupped the hand he had trapped to his face, knowing the truth but unwilling to accept it, and closed his eyes in anguish. "How can you have no hope?" he demanded roughly from the sick man.

"Because I have seen my death," Godric replied, still as gentle. "And my time grows ever shorter." Hazel eyes caught green with sudden vibrant seriousness. "In seventeen years time, on a Christmas morn, seek out the young man with eyes of precious jewels and hair as black as a raven's wing, whose power lies in healing hands and the wondrous animals he can charm with a touch. In his face see me, but in his eyes see yourself. He is destined for great things, this young man. Great things."

A hacking cough ended his speech, and the grip on his hand tightened with a soundless cry.

"Love made him, Salazar," Godric spoke, voice fading like the wind.

And with a final look upon the face of a childhood friend who became a lifetime love, hazel eyes closed and a clutched hand grew limp.

Salazar gave in and wept for his loss.

000

An ebony casket was lowered slowly into the freshly dug earth under the eyes of a city of mourners, the words of the priest buzzing tunelessly in the cold, frostbit air. The monotonous voice gave way to the presentation of arms, a bugle sounding a last farewell, knights and the other denizens of the castle paying last respects.

Even as he watched the ceremony, Salazar couldn't help but remember the blissful look on his love's face after what would be their last lovemaking, the night before Salazar would leave to visit his youngest of three sisters and her new husband. It was scarcely a week ago, and yet it felt like ages.

He absently rubbed his still taut belly, wherein rested his growing, unborn son, scarcely a week conceived. He turned away as the casket rested with a soft sound of finality, unwilling to watch as moist earth covered his first and only love.

"Come, my little one," he whispered to the unaware being underneath his fingers. "We have work to do."

000

Part One

000

_In the hearts of those who hope is sung a legend, of a time when men were noble and valiant, and knights strong and bold. Of a time before the dark ages fell upon the land of magic and wonder, and the people were left fearful and despairing._

_King Godric Gryffindor the Noble had died swiftly in a matter of days from an illness that took him, and the land, by surprise. Leaving no Heir Apparent behind, the land was torn by petty squabbling between the lords and noblemen, causing strife among the commonfolk. The land turned barren and dull, where no law was kept and pure magic was all but gone, existing in very few and used by less, made dormant by the greed in the hearts of man._

_It seemed war would be all that would exist in the land until the late king's Court Mage and Personal Adviser ensorcelled the ancestral sword, Legacy, to remain embedded in a large stone in the middle of a town square until the rightful heir to the throne pulled it out._

_However, although many tried, none succeeded and hope was all but lost. In time, the sword was forgotten and only war remained. Dark times fell upon the land, where men feared one another and the strong preyed upon the weak._

_For seventeen years these dark times raged..._

000

Bell-like laughter sung through the air. A boy, small for his age, gaily ran across the hilly, grassy weald, a bay mare playfully chasing after him along with three bloodhounds, one grey, one black, and one brown. The lead dog tackled him, sending him to the ground and submitting him to its tongue's mercy. The other two pounced and attempted to lick the skin off of his face as well.

Snorting, the mare slowed and stopped a few feet away from the pile, one black-socked hoof pawing the ground.


	17. The One That Never Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beloved is the Child:
> 
> Harry Potter and Severus Snape share a secret. A very big secret that Dumbledore, should he ever learn it, would surely attempt to destroy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an idea, but no idea how to start it. Instead of a partial story, you're getting all the ideas I came up with. Written before the seventh book, obviously.

**Notes**

  * Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are unisex schools.
  * Involve a flashback of Harry's true past at either the end or beginning of each chapter.



The Dursleys:

  * Petunia: Went to Beauxbatons; only Lily, their parents, Vernon, and Dudley know.
  * Vernon: Went to Durmstrang.
  * Dudley: Went to Durmstrang.
  * Marjorie: Went to Beauxbatons, same year as Petunia; introduced her to Vernon.



They raised Harry to know about his heritage and Dumbledore's manipulations. Lily's diary and the note Dumbledore left offering them the right to "punish" Harry solidified this. Harry created a mask for Hogwarts and Dumbledore to see him as an abused, neglected child who was naïve about the magical world, which he wore during his schooling.

The Weasleys:

Molly and Arthur: Paid off by Dumbledore to "adopt Harry into the Wizarding world with the 'right' influences."

The kids: They all know about this and don't like it. Bill and Charlie left so they wouldn't be pulled into it. Percy separated himself from them to be a spy in the Ministry on behalf of Harry. The twins do whatever they can to piss them off. Ron and Ginny vowed to protect him and keep his secret from Dumbledore. Hermione, who married Ron, has known since Halloween of their first year and has helped Harry perfect his mask of mediocre work.

Weasley children:

  * Sarah, 8; Rhianna, 5; Phillipe, 3 – Bill and Fleur
  * Matthew, 10; Joseph & Josephine, 8 – Charlie and Jonathan
  * Paul, 9; Perry, 4 – Percy and Penelope
  * Jason, 3 – Ron and Hermione



Sirius and Remus:

Have known since third year and gave their blessing for the marriage. Since finding out the truth behind their friends' deaths, have called a truce and formed a tentative friendship with Severus, but only in private.

Severus and Harry:

Has known since the first potions lesson, after which Harry explained to him about his mask. They grew closer over the years as Severus protected Harry's secret and they kept of the act of hating each other.

They married on the eve of Harry's fifteenth birthday, earlier than they had planned due to Harry reaching his Majority earlier than anticipated and needing a solid foundation to ground his magic. Harry conceived that very night. Aldren James Remisius Snape was born April 29, 1996. Harry conceived again February of 1997. Twins Caeryn Lillian Marjorie Snape and Saeryn Petunia Eileen Snape were born October 31, 1997

As of July 31, 2005:

  * Aldren: Nine
  * Caeryn & Saeryn: Seven



-

**Plot:** With Voldemort dead, and life seemingly normal, Harry and Severus attempt to live a somewhat normal post-war life. However, with the rise of another mysterious Dark Lord so soon after the death of the last, they wonder if they'll ever get the chance.

There is Death Eater activity afoot in the wizarding world – which seems next to impossible, with the round-up of the remainder of Lord Voldemort's forces. Voldemort, however, had a secret group hidden away in seclusion, training for the day their Lord would rise up in his rightful place as the ruler of the magical world. Because they were not Marked by the Dark Lord, no one ever knew they existed. Not even the Death Eaters themselves.

They are known as Team Crimson, and their Crimson Mark is eerily reminiscent to the Dark Mark; a jewel-red snake crushing a skull in its massive jaws. They are lead by a woman more psychotic than Bellatrix Lestrange could ever boast, named Myretia Lyvant.


	18. The One with Momma!Marge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain and Shadow: Prologue:
> 
> AU. Marjorie Dursley has decided that out of the goodness of her heart, she would relieve her brother of his terrible burden and take care of The Boy. Too bad she never realized how much he would come to mean to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one I might actually continue with because I like the idea, so my notes aren't included. I don't want to give away the plot. (What little of it there is.)

**Chapter One**

For once in his life, Vernon Joseph Dursley had no idea what to do.

He woke that dreary November morning in a rather good mood overall. His favorite shirt was freshly pressed, he rather thought his pants were the slightest bit looser, his brand new shoes were finally comfortably worn in, and he had found his lucky tie. His wife Petunia was downstairs, humming rather cheerfully as she set out the pans for breakfast, and his son was blissfully asleep. All was perfectly right and normal in his world.

Until his wife screamed bloody murder.

A minute later he found himself down the stairs and next to his wife in the doorway to his home, staring in fascinated horror at the basket on his doorstep.

"What is it?" he asked stupidly, not quite registering that there was actually a baby on his doorstep.

"What does it look like?" his wife snapped. Normally he would have been taken aback at her tone, for she had never used such with him before, but he could hardly blame her under the circumstances.

"Look," he said, hoping to turn her ire to something else, "I think there's a note."

Huffing irritably, Petunia picked the basket up and brought it inside the house before any of the nosy busybodies on the street could become interested and possibly spread rumors about them. With very little care, she set the basket roughly on the kitchen table and snatched the note from within the folds on the blanket the child was wrapped in. Throughout all of this, the child remained asleep. She blanched at the wax seal, dread forming in the pit of her stomach, but nevertheless opened the envelope and read the letter aloud.

"'Dear Petunia Dursley,'" she read. "'I deeply regret to inform you of the passing of your sister, Lily Anna Potter. Earlier this year, your sister, her husband, and her son went into hiding from a Dark Wizard whom had risen in our world who called himself Lord Voldemort. For reasons I cannot explain in this letter, Lord Voldemort had been after your sister's family for some time, putting them in great danger.

"'On Halloween night, he found your sister and her family. I am quite sorry to say that he murdered Lily and James both, but was unable to kill their son, Harry, due to a powerful charm Lily cast moments before her death. Harry is the only one to have ever survived a curse of such evil, the curse of death. He caused the curse to rebound upon its castor, destroying the Dark Lord to nothing but vapor. As such, Harry is now considered the savior of our world, the Boy-Who-Lived.

"'As Harry's only remaining family, I have sent him to you. Please be aware that by taking him in you will be activating very powerful and very ancient magic based off of the blood the both of you share. It will create a ward around your home, protecting you and your family from the followers of Lord Voldemort. For as long as Harry calls this place his home, the wards will not fail.

"'I must stress the importance of this. For both Harry's safety, and that of your family's, I suggest you do not turn him away. Yours Truly, Albus Dumbledore.'"

Vernon and Petunia stared at each other in abject horror.

"Not… not _those people_ ," Vernon whispered, his face turning a sickening puce. His wife glared daggers at the baby in the basket, despite the fact that the child had remained miraculously asleep throughout the whole ordeal.

"How dare they," she shrieked, crumpling the letter in her bony fist. "To assume they can just dump my sister's child on my doorstep and _demand_ that we keep him! It's preposterous! And to use that… that… _magic,_ " here she grimaced, spitting the word out as though just speaking it could taint the air of her home, "on my house! I won't stand for it, Vernon!"

Vernon frowned, thinking quickly. Despite his looks and rather boisterous nature, Vernon J. Dursley could be quite sharp minded when the need suited him. It was this limited ability that allowed him to rise so quickly through the ranks of Grunnings.

He was tempted, first, to suggest they drop the boy off anonymously at an orphanage, but that was quickly discarded. The letter those… _people_ had left behind suggested that they would know immediately if they went though with such a plan. Similarly were the ideas of giving the child to another neighbor or simply leaving him on the street. The last idea had never even crossed into conscious thought, for while Vernon was extremely prejudiced, heavy-handed, and rather stuck in his ways, he was not by nature a cruel man.

"There's nothing else for it," he muttered finally. "We'll have to keep him." His wife stared at him slack-jawed, as though she couldn't believe her own ears.

"Vernon!" she protested loudly. "I can't believe you're complying with this utter farce!"

"We have no choice, Pet." His voice carried a tone of finality. "If we get rid of him, _those_ _people_ might find out and just bring him back. And who knows what they'd do to make sure we'd never do it again. I won't run the risk! Who know, they could even be watching the house as we speak!"

The both of them peered suspiciously out of the kitchen windows, eyes narrowed in an effort to see out of the tiny gap the curtains made. Petunia sniffed disdainfully and attempted fruitlessly to draw the curtains fully closed. When they failed to comply to her wishes, she gave them a nasty glare, threw the crumpled letter in the trash, and stomped her way to the ice box to continue with breakfast. Vernon was left peering warily into the basket left on the table.

Aside from the rather nasty cut on the child's forehead, the boy looked rather normal, like any other fifteen-month-old child. However, he knew well how appearances could be deceptive, especially when it came to _his kind_ , so he was determined to not let himself underestimate the babe swaddled in the thick baby blue blanket. It was as he eyed the child with extreme hesitance that the boy began to move and scrunch his face as though he were about to wake up. Vernon hastily made his way back up the stairs on the pretence that he needed to finish getting ready for work – despite the fact that it was Sunday.

As said before, Vernon could be rather sharp minded if he wanted to be, and he knew, instinctively, that the meeting between aunt and nephew would be rather explosive. And that was one disaster he wanted to be as far away from as possible.

000

One hundred and seventy-eight miles away, in the small village of Coffinswell located in the south of Devon, Marjorie Elizabeth Dursley woke to pales skies that hinted snow. This put her in a rather cheerful mood, for while she absolutely detested the cold, she did love to see the hills glistening with freshly fallen powder. Of course, it also meant that she would have to make sure the kennel was suitably warm and that the dogs' access to the outside pens were cut off, but this put nary a dent in her mood.

She took her time enjoying her breakfast and making sure her prize bulldog Ripper enjoyed his. When she was done, and the dishes washed, she bundled up in a heavy coat, told Ripper that, "Mummy will be back in just a moment, sweetums," and made her way out the doors. A mere one hundred feet away sat her pride and joy – the kennel.

After her parents died, with her younger brother Vernon away at college earning his way towards a business degree, Marge was absolutely torn about what to do with the house and farmland it sat on. Her brother was too busy attempting to woo her now sister-in-law at the time to help her, so she did the only thing she could and continued to see to the general care and feeding of her father's prized animals.

At this time, she was still in the process of training her beloved Ripper to be champion material. It wasn't until half a year later, when Ripper won first prize in the obedience category in the regional dog show and was asked if she would consider using him for breeding that she discovered her true passion. It was only reinforced with the arrival of his first litter, four perfect, gorgeous puppies that quickly found homes as soon as they were weaned.

She decided to be a dog breeder. As much as she loved the accolades that came with winning competitions, the people were absolutely hell to deal with. She rather preferred dogs.

Slowly over the next few years, she sold off her father's farm animals and used the money to fund her business venture, which was growing rather quickly and more and more popular as the years went by. She continued to do shows in order to build up the reputation of her dogs, but her reputation quickly began to precede her and she quit the shows altogether to focus on her kennel. The barn house was completely renovated and her canine population growing until she had no less than six litters available each year.

Yes, she was extremely proud of her dogs, and now that she thought about it, rather thankful that her little brother decided to stay in the hustle and bustle of the city. Thinking of her brother got her thinking of his son, her darling, beloved nephew Dudley. This reminded her that she had not spoken to her brother or his family in several weeks and it was with a decisive nod that she decided to give him a call later that night.

True to her prediction, a light snowfall began just after lunch and by the time she had set the stew to simmer to go feed her precious pups their dinner, a shallow layer of white slush had completely covered the ground outside. She made sure the dogs had plenty of food and water, that the outside pens were locked and barred, and the thermostat set at just the right temperature before taking a quick peek at the newest litter, born just the week before; they would be properly weaned just in time for Christmas, which was good, as she had homes already lined up for them.

Chores finished, she fed herself and Ripper, poured herself a healthy serving of brandy, and dialed her brother.

000

**Chapter Two**

"Honestly, Marge, I'm at my wits end." Vernon rubbed a weary hand down his face. He felt far too old for his twenty-six years of age, almost as though he had aged twenty years in the hours since breakfast. "It's not that the boy cries all the time, or makes a fuss, or is unruly. If it weren't _her_ child I'd say he's rather pleasant. But his being here has made Petunia ever so upset. She even snapped at Dudley, today. _Our_ Dudley." Vernon heaved a world-weary sigh and scowled fiercely. "If only his dratted parents hadn't decided to get drunk behind the wheel."

The last was, of course, a rather large, and cruel, lie. However, Petunia had decided it was the only way she would be willing to explain the sudden appearance of her sister's son in her home, and really, it wasn't like she could explain that the boy and his parents were freaks that went against the very laws of nature, now could they? Why, what would the neighbors think? No, no, it was better this way. Who cares if they supposedly helped saved the world? Their world had nothing to do with them, and they'd rather keep it that way.

His sister clucked her tongue on the other end of the line, one of the few sounds she had made in the last hour of his ranting aside from gasps and murmurs of condolence. _"Blood aside, Vernon, perhaps it would be best if you took the brat to an orphanage. With parents like that, who knows what kind of ruffian the boy will turn into. There's no need to raise Dudders with that kind of influence."_

"No, no," Vernon said hastily, mind working furiously to come up with some sort of excuse. "I'd rather not give the neighbors something to gossip about. Who knows what kind of rumors they'll come up with if they find out? No, best not to light the kinder, if you know what I mean."

 _"Yes, that does make sense, brother."_ Vernon deflated in relief and gave himself a smug mental pat on the back. He paled a moment later as she began to speak again. _"You know, Vernon, one of my clients mentioned something interesting to me the other day. She said that a kennel up in Somerset was becoming pretty well known for breeding and raising dogs that get along well with children. They breed Whipspans, of course, not bulldogs, however perhaps they have the right idea. Why don't you send the child to me, Vernon. Raising the puppies around him will help to ease them to children, and I could put him to work as soon as he's old enough. Yes, I think a good dose of hard labor and moral values is just what that boy will need. It'll knock any hooligan tendencies right out of him, is what I say."_ Vernon gaped in silent horror. _"And it'll ease Petunia's mind greatly, I think, that she won't have to deal with the boy. She'll be able to focus all her attention on Dudley, where it rightly belongs. Yes, it's a splendid idea. What do you say, Vernon?"_

"N-now, Marge," Vernon stuttered, pulling at his collar as it grew suddenly warm. "I don't know if that is such a good idea. After all, you have your hands full with the kennel and the business. Having to raise a child will just distract from that, don't you think?"

 _"Nonsense."_ Vernon winced at her tone. _"Let me take the boy off your hands, Vernon. Start making arrangements, and call me when they're finalized."_

"Y-yes, Marge. Thank you. It will ease Petunia's mind greatly, I agree." And that was that.

Vernon sagged in his chair half an hour later, staring blankly at the now cradled phone. If giving the boy to an orphanage would alert those… _people_ to their unwillingness to take the child in, surely sending him over two hundred miles away would do the same thing? After all, the letter did say that once they took the child in there would be some kind of freakish alarm system set on the house. Who knows what they would do then?

On the other hand, they would be rid of the boy. Petunia would be much happier, and there would be no more burden upon their shoulders. But what of when the boy grew and his _freakishness_ began to show? And of when the boy was old enough to go to freak school? What then?

Vernon huffed angrily. Who cared? Perhaps all that hard labor and teaching of values Marge mentioned would knock all that nonsense right out of him, just as Marge said. No, this was a good thing. A very good thing. As soon as the boy was gone, he could wipe the brat from his mind and forget the whole thing. After all, he'd only have to deal with the brat once or twice a year. Perhaps less, if Marge left him with a sitter. Yes, this was the absolute best choice!

Vernon brightened considerably and went to tell Petunia the good news.

As it just so happened, Petunia's friend Yvonne Wilkinson, a rather no-nonsense hard working woman of whom Vernon had always approved of, had been planning to visit her mother within the week. Quite conveniently, her mother happened to live less than ten minutes away from Marge in Kingskerswell. Once Petunia had explained to them about her nephew and her sister-in-law's offer ("Quite sensible of that Marge. You certainly don't need that child underfoot while you're tending to Dudley," Yvonne had nodded primly), she had agreed to take him with her. After all, it would not be much of a hassle to take a short stop in Coffinswell on the way to visit her mother, not much of a hassle at all.

On November the fifth, a mere four days after little Harry Potter arrived on his relative's doorsteps, he was dressed in a pair of Dudley's outgrown jumpers, bundled up in the blanket he arrived in, strapped into the car seat Dudley had grown too big for, and swept off for the long three and a half hour drive to the south of Devon. Before they left, Petunia thanked Yvonne for her assistance while wishing her a safe trip, sniffed a silent "good riddance" in her nephew's direction, and turned back into the house without a backward glance and no regrets.

Vernon watched them drive off, worry curdling in his gut at the thought of what the freaks might do if they ever found out. But as the car disappeared around the bend, he let the matter slide from his mind and fetched some coffee. He had better things to do than worry about freaks in dresses with their silly sticks and funny words.

It was their own fault, after all, for not making sure the child was actually wanted.

000

**Chapter Three**

Marge kept busy in the days before the boy's arrival. She paid a couple of local boys she usually hired during the summers for yard work fifteen pounds apiece to help her convert the spare room next to hers into a nursery. They were kept busy as well, moving furniture and setting up a crib given to her by a neighbor whose children had grown well past childhood. She made sure to have enough formula on hand to last her through winter, so she would not have to make too many trips to the store in the cold, but put off buying most of the clothing as she did not know the correct size for the child, although the same woman had also passed to her several sets she no longer needed as well as a few toys.

She wondered, for a moment, if perhaps she was more excited at the prospect of having a child in her home than she ought to be, considering the boy's parentage. Then again, he was young yet and she had never believed in condemning a child not yet old enough to have absorbed his parent's uselessness. Bad blood will out, she always said, however she was sure that with her guidance the boy would grow into a better young man than his parents had been.

And if she was perfectly honest with herself, she was a bit lonesome for human comfort. Her dogs were her children, of course, but she wondered now if they could truly replace a flesh and blood child. She had always wanted to have a child to raise, though her poor departed Matthew had died before they could ever get that far.

It was with a start that she realized she had not thought of her deceased husband in quite a while. She had met the handsome and enigmatic Matthew Wallace in college, and they'd married just after she graduated. They had been so very much in love. His horrible and untimely death at the hands of an absent-minded trucker had devastated her completely, so much so that she retook her maiden name and moved as far from their home in Scotland as she could. She'd moved back home with her parents, who passed from age and sickness a few years later, and rebuilt her life there in her childhood home.

Well, enough of that, she decided. The past was the past, and she was taking the boy in as a favor to her brother, nothing more. And if she couldn't quite bring herself to believe that, well, that was her dilemma and no one else's.

It was coming upon eleven thirty when she heard the car pull up in her drive. Marge quickly washed her hands of her lunch preparations and went out to greet her sister-in-law's friend. The woman herself was leaning into the backseat of her car, no doubt to fetch the boy and the child seat. Marge could just barely see wisps of dark black hair peeking out from the blue blanket the child was swaddled in when Yvonne turned around, the boy himself seemingly fast asleep.

"He slept nearly the whole ride," the woman greeted her. "I have a small bag for him in the boot, as well as an envelope containing the paperwork you'll need to sign the custody over, and his birth certificate." Marge retrieved the bag and the two women went into the house.

"Would you care for a cup of tea?" Marge asked politely. So far she was not impressed with the woman Petunia had raved about, but she had been raised to keep such opinions to herself.

"No thank you," Yvonne answered. She handled the child over carefully, so he wouldn't wake. "Mother is expecting me for lunch, I really must be going." The woman peered down at the child held in Marge's arms and sniffed. "Good luck with him. If his parents were half as bad as Petunia said, you're going to need it." She soon left without so much as a by-your-leave.

Marge sat carefully down on the couch, staring curiously at the child who'd been given to her. She moved the cloth aside to get a good look at him. From beneath the black fringe of his hair she could see the ugly red scar on his forehead, a result from the car accident that had taken his parents life her brother had said. He was a rather small, scrawny little thing, roughly half the size of her nephew. That would change as he grew, she decided, already planning to bulk him up. She had to admit, grudgingly, that he was a rather cute infant.

He woke as she stood to take him to the nursery, blinking open sleepy eyes. Marge gasped as she got a good look at them, sitting down again almost instantly. She stared, haunted, into his curious emerald green eyes, seeing not him but another face before her eyes.

"Matthew," she breathed. Almost at once, a forgotten pain welled up in her as she stared at the eyes that were a mere shade brighter than her beloved deceased husband's. Matthews eyes had been what had first drawn her to him, his smile and laughter second. It was those eyes she had stared into as she said her vows; those eyes that had been the last thing she saw before she fell asleep at night and the first thing she had seen upon waking up. Those eyes that she had thought she would never see again. And here they were, on the child of her brother's sister-in-law, a child whom had been orphaned by their carelessness and left upon his family's doorstep in the night.

Something within her shattered, and she knew, without a doubt, that this boy was now hers and hers alone. Hers to raise, hers to protect, hers to love. There was no way this child could ever grow into the worthless drunk his father had been – not with those eyes.

She thanked every providence she could think of for giving her back a piece of her husband. She would cherish this gift, regardless of her past intentions. It was the least she could do. After all, they had given her a son with her husband's eyes.

A strangled sound escaped her. She clutched the boy to her breast and sobbed.

000

**Chapter Four**

**April, 1985**

"Momma!" A red and brown blur with shaggy black hair toppled into her legs, one small arm clutching tightly around her waist, the other holding something fast to his chest. Marge peered down into excited green eyes and raised a brow.

"What have a said about running in the house?" The boy blushed and looked down at the floor, chastened.

"No running 'cause I could fall an' get hurt."

"Good boy. Now, what's got you so excited?"

He looked up again, smiling brightly as he remembered why he had come running to her in the first place.

"Look at what Kerny Fubser gave me! See, see?" He thrust his small parcel into the air, nearly hopping up and down in his exuberance.

Marge smiled in amusement at the picture book about dogs he held in his hands. Colonel Jack Fubster had moved to Coffinswell the year before, freshly retired from Her Majesty's Army. He had bought the house nearest hers from a rather prickly old woman whom had oft complained about her dogs and later her son – and before that her father's animals. She wasn't sorry to see her go.

Harry and the Colonel had hit it off like peas in a pod. As strange as the friendship sounded, it seemed to work well for the retired widower and her son, whom had very little children his own age to play with. It seemed only a bonus that the Colonel seemed as enthused about dogs as the boy was.

"Colonel Fubster, Harry. Did you say 'thank you'?"

"Yes, Momma," the boy replied. "Can I go read it? Please, please, please?" She smoothed his hair down in a futile attempt to make it lay flat and kissed his forehead.

"You can read until supper."

"Yay!" The boy hugged her tightly around the waist and took off down the hall as fast as he could without actually running. Marge watched him go, a fond smile on her face.

Harry had been exactly what she hadn't known she'd needed. If she wasn't so upset with her brother, she would call and thank him every day for sending him her way. As it was, it was rare if they talked at all. In fact, she could count their conversations of the past two years on one hand. Ever since The Incident, there had not been a single conversation between them that had not been less than five tense minutes long.

Nearly two years ago, Marge took Harry with her on the long trip to Surrey for Dudley's birthday. It had been tense almost from the start due to Vernon and Petunia's clear dismissal of the boy she adopted as her own. Having then seen the hostility in their eyes as they looked at her child, she began to wonder at their severe reaction. She let it slide for the moment, but continued to keep a close eye on their interaction.

It built during dinner with the way Vernon's hand tightened around his fork as she sat Harry next to her at the table, and the way Petunia sneered when Marge added more food to his paltry first serving. The tension grew thicker with dessert and the thinnest sliver of cake Petunia could manage to cut, only compounded with Dudley's tantrum that he didn't want to share his dessert with his cousin.

It was during the opening of presents that it all came to a head. Dudley had bulldozed his way through the mountain he had acquired, tossing each new toy aside after mere glances to grab the next one in greedy hands. After they were all open and the living room had been littered with the wrappings, Dudley had cast his gaze around to look for escapees when he'd set his sights on Harry.

To keep him entertained while Dudley opened his presents, Marge had given Harry a small stuffed dog to play with. From one moment to the next, Dudley had crossed the room and snatched the toy roughly from Harry's hands and pushed him to the ground.

"It's _my_ birthday!" Dudley said haughtily, glaring at the significantly smaller boy. "You can't have any toys!"

"Dudley!" Marge chastened, shaking a finger at her nephew. Dudley looked at her in surprise, as though it was the first time someone had ever scolded him. And, she though ruefully, it probably was. "You give Harry back his toy right now. It does not belong to you. You have plenty of toys over there to play with."

"No!" Dudley stomped his feet, his face turning red. "It's mine! It's my birthday, so it's mine!"

It was at this point that Harry began to cry. He reached out his arms for his toy, tears falling down his cheeks. "Roopa!"

And then it happened. Under the astonished gaze of everyone in the room, the toy dislodged itself from Dudley's hold and floated gently over to Harry. Petunia shrieked, pulling Dudley swiftly away and smacking Harry's hand harshly, causing Harry to pull away in shock and the toy to fall to the ground.

"Don't you dare use that freakishness in my house!" Petunia yelled shrilly. "You unnatural little beast!"

"Petunia!" Marge gasped. Petunia glared at her as well, pointing a shaking hand at the child who was now staring at her and shivering in fear.

"No! I won't have it! He's just as unnatural as his parents! I had thought that maybe he wouldn't end up like my freak of a sister when you never called to tell us he'd done something unnatural. But he's just like them! I won't have it!"

"So you knew about it, then," Marge said calmly, suddenly understanding their behavior since that fateful November day.

She had, in fact, noticed that Harry was different from other children. How could she not, after the first time he'd floated his pacifier into his hands from where it had fallen on the floor to where he sat in his crib. She'd been shocked, surely, but for some reason could not find it in herself to be afraid. As it happened more and more often, she'd gotten used to it and just set it aside as one of those things that just were. And now she was learning that perhaps there had been an ulterior reason why her brother and his wife had not wanted her son when he'd first shown up on their doorstep.

It all came out that night. Petunia ranted and raved for over an hour about her witch sister and her wizard husband. About how there was an entire society hiding in plain sight from the rest of the world, a society of magic users and magical creatures. How his parents had not been drunkards who'd killed themselves in a car wreck, but magic users who'd been murdered during a war. Petunia had even told her the contents of a letter that had been seared into her memory since that day.

"The boy is a worthless freak," Petunia hissed finally, winding down from her rant. "I'll thank you to leave him somewhere next time you come up. I won't have his unnaturalness taint my son."

"And I'll thank you," Marge said coldly, "not to speak of my son in such a manner."

Marge and Harry left early the next morning after a tense breakfast. Although she sent cards and gifts on birthdays and holidays, she refused to return there or talk to them unless strictly necessary. She didn't think she could ever forgive them for the way they treated her son, and until they apologized she wanted little to do with them. Especially since Harry still couldn't hear mention of them without crying.

Marge sighed and shook herself from her memories. What was done was done. All she could hope for now was to help teach Harry some restraint with his gift and hope that perhaps her brother would someday come around. She doubted it – Vernon had always been foolishly pigheaded – but she could hope.

Humming softly, she ambled into the kitchen to begin supper.

000

**Chapter Five**

**September 1985**

"No, Harry." Marge frowned sternly at her son, gently taking the beagle puppy from his grasp. "You cannot take Jackson to school with you."

"Aww, but Momma!" Harry whined. "He's never been alone before, he'll miss me!"

"You'll only be gone for four hours, dear. He'll be just fine until you get back from school."

"Fine," he grumbled, dragging his feet as he walked down the drive. He looked back a few times at his puppy before finally climbing into Mrs. Herche's van to go to school, staring back at the house the whole time.

Marge wasn't surprised he felt that way. He and Jackson had been inseparable since the day they brought him and his entire litter home from the pet store in London. They'd gone to celebrate his birthday that year and when they had come upon the pet shop Harry almost immediately fell in love with the litter of beagles in the window. Marge had actually been planning to branch out from bulldogs for a while, to add another breed to her kennel, though she could not decide which one. Seeing the way Harry's eyes lit up as he watched the tri-coloured puppies decided her.

She bought the entire litter.

Jackson had been the runt of the litter, a tiny little thing she knew would never reach champion standards. Luckily, that was the one Harry had fallen in love with, so Jackson moved out of the kennel into the house. He'd never left Harry's side since. Well, until today at least, but today was the day Harry started his first year in primary school. She doubted the teacher would be very enthused to have a puppy running around her classroom.

"And don't you go letting him sneak you out," she told the puppy sternly. Jackson whined, giving her a doleful look with his big, brown eyes. Her lips twitched into a smile and she put him down. Jackson whined again and pawed at the door Harry had left through. After a few moments he seemed to realize Harry wasn't coming right back, and he sat next to the door with a huff, staring mournfully at is as it stayed closed.

"I know exactly how you feel," Marge murmured.


	19. The Supernatural Crossover Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting For the End:
> 
> It had to be the worse idea ever. Had to be. When people found out, there would be not only Hell but Heaven to pay... A half-demon in love with an angel? Definitely the worst idea ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _was_ going to continue this, but I lost steam and it just kind of sat there, so it's just another empty start.

**Notes:**

  * Harry, son of Crowley and Lily Evans-Potter, James step-father
  * Crowley impregnated Lily, Lily married James 3 years later
  * Lily infertile, made deal with Crowley to have a child only instead of selling her soul she agreed to carry Crowley's child
  * Magic AU - natural wizards but no government, no Voldemort
  * Crowley and Harry on good terms – sees Crowley as father, James as Uncle
  * Harry – Lily’s kind heart, Crowley’s biting sarcasm; green eyes can turn red
  * Overprotective!Crowley, Alive!Lily/James
  * Demons can’t affect natural witches unless summoned. Natural witches are descendants of demon-deal witches.



10 yrs Hell = 1 mth Earth  
122 days Hell = 1 day Earth  
5 days hell = 1 hr earth  
1 day hell = 12 min earth

Harry – 25 (1963 Buick Riviera)  
Sam - 26  
Dean – 30  
Lily – 46  
James – 49  
Sebastian – 17

 

"My mom is a pure witch, not one of those deal-making knock offs." 

"Yeah, and how do you know that? She made a deal to get you, didn't she?"

"Because you're only allowed to make one deal, one contract, in your lifetime. It's a binding rule set up in such a way that once you make a deal, you can never summon any other crossroads demon but the one who holds your contract, and because a human has only one soul, they cannot sell it again. In this way, you cannot keep making deals to extend your life. My father would be upset if I told you this, but deal making has very strict rules. Oh, you can wish for anything; wealth, fame, power. But there are things even wish granters can't do."

-

**Prologue**

-

**October 31, 1979**

She pulled her jacket closer to her body in an effort to create just a bit more heat in the freezing air of late fall. Winter seemed to be shoving it’s way forward, despite that fall still had over a month and a half to flourish. She glanced around, biting at her lip, before checking the box one last time. She breathed in deeply, closed her eyes, and buried the box before she could change her mind.

This was possibly one of the worst decisions she could have ever made. Certainly, if her mother ever knew – if she had been alive to know – she would possibly end up in a hole right next to the box. But then, her mother had never liked her anyway, not since her father had told her the truth. Her mother had been a Hunter. Her father was a natural born witch.

Nevertheless, she was desperate.

The doctor said it would be impossible. She would never be able to reach a dream she’d had since she was five years old. All due to one small defect, a genetic quirk passed down from her paternal grandmother. All right, she could handle that. Then the agency rejected her petition because she was only twenty-one. Then another. And another. The fourth accepted… however, she was waitlisted for eight years. That she couldn’t accept.

She vowed from the moment her cousin Pearl brought home baby Sara that one day she would be a mother, that she would have her own baby, her own child to love and to raise. She wanted one so badly. So she decided that if nature and the government would thwart her, she would turn to her father’s side of the family and use magic.

She researched for months before she found the ritual to summon a Crossroads Demon; a wish granter. She didn’t hesitate. Within a week the necessary items were gathered and a place chosen to perform the ritual.

And so here she was, holding her breath and awaiting the arrival of a demon.

“Now then. What’s a pretty lit’il thing like you doing in such a dreary place like this?”

She turned, almost making herself dizzy. Her heart jumped into her throat. A man stood behind her, slightly overdressed for the location with his black suit and heavy overcoat, looking as though he appeared from nowhere. But then, she realized, he did appear from nowhere.

He walked forward slowly, hands in his pockets, features set in what looked to be a permanent smug look.

“Well? I dun have all day, luv.”

“I want a baby,” she blurted out. He raised an eyebrow and her face flushed. “I mean, I want to be a mother. Always have. But I’m infertile, and the only agency that didn’t turn me away said I’d have to wait eight years for a viable adoption, and I just can’t _wait_ eight years, and… please,” she clutched at her jacket, shivering. “I don’t care what I have to give up, what I have to sell…. As long as I can have a baby.”

He eyed her with slightly more interest than he showed before, considering. “What’s your name?” She looked startled.

“Um… Lily. Lily Evans,” she said slowly, brows furrowing in confusion. He smirked.

“Well, Miss Lily – may I call you Lily? – I believe we might be able to make a deal. Of course,” he added, “there is a price.”

She nodded, determined. “Anything.” He smirked.

“You want a baby, eh? Well, I want an heir.” She paled. “You may have your child, so long as you carry mine. Oh, don’t worry,” he said, attempting to look reassuring. “I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of, and that the child will want for nothing. You’ll even get to keep your soul until you die a natural death – after which your soul belongs to me, of course. So, then. Do we have a deal?”

Lily swallowed. “You… you won’t take the baby away? He or she can stay with me?”

“Like I have time to watch a crawling, drooling poop machine,” he said with a sneer. “No, you’ll do all the raising. I’ll just… pop in now n’ then. Kid’s gotta know who his father is, after all.”

Lily considered. It didn’t take her much time.

“What’s your name? I should know the name of the father of my child.” The demon gave her a wicked grin.

“Call me Crowley, luv.”

“All right. Then, Crowley, we have a deal.”

Crowley laughed darkly, laid a hand on her shoulder, and without another word they disappeared as though they had never been.

-

Three weeks later, to the astonishment of her obstetrician, Lily was declared pregnant.

-

**Chapter One**

-

When Harry was five, he noticed something rather unusual about his family. Unlike most of the children in his kindergarten class, his father was not the man his mother was married to. They lived in a very small town where such an occurrence was unusual but not unheard of, and in fact, it was mostly a rumor – albeit true – that his mother Lily had had a child out of wedlock at a young age and married his well-to-do stepfather a few years later.

Of course, this was not the unusual thing. What was unusual about his family, and the reasons the rumors had not yet proven true, was that his father would visit him at night, usually long after his mother and step-father had gone to bed. He had always done so, for as long as Harry could remember.

When he had finally asked his mother why, she had gone very silent for a long time, her lips pinched in a manner he recognized as her ‘I’m upset and trying not to show it’ face. She told him that his father worked odd hours, but that she would make sure he showed up during the day from then on – like a normal person. (She said the last part very quietly, so he thought perhaps he wasn’t meant to have heard it.)

That night she sent him to sleep over at his friend’s house, and from then on, on every Saturday, his father would pick him up during the day and take him out. Of course, he still showed up during the night, but Harry promised he would keep it a secret.

-

When Harry was eight, his mother sat him down and very gently told him that she was a witch and his father was a demon. He told her he already knew. This time he received her ‘That man is going to get it’ face, like the one she made when she found out his father was still visiting him in the middle of the night, or when James, his step-father, played pranks on their grouchy old neighbor Mr. Gerstein, who was always yelling at the paperboy for throwing his paper on the grass.

Harry very quickly reassured his mother that his father only told him about his demon heritage. He found out about being half-witch from her father’s journal up in the attic.

Nevertheless, Lily Potter was not happy to know that his father had been teaching him to use his combined gifts, seeing as he was… well, to be polite, a demon with very loose morals. She insisted that Harry commit part of his weekends – the part that was not already devoted to his father – learning from her the ways of natural witchcraft. Harry didn’t much like having his weekends taken away, but the magic lessons more than made up for it.

-

When Harry was eleven, he went to Hell for the first time. It had been a very bad day. Lily and James, wanting a child between the two of them, finally signed the papers to adopt another child just a few weeks before. While becoming a big brother to a very cute two-year-old was in no way a problem (and in fact, Harry would do his father proud against any who would dare harm his new brother), the stress of having a new toddler in the house and the random outburst of magical puberty had been steadily driving James and his mother up a metaphorical wall.

Harry didn’t really see what the big deal was. One accidentally blown up lamp, and off to his room he’s sent with a firm scolding ringing in his ears. All he remembered from that time was wishing very hard to be with his father and away from all of the tension, and the next thing he knew, the air was thick with the smell of sulfur and he’s peeling off his sweater as though it were the middle of June and not a snowy, freezing January afternoon.

Luckily, his father managed to find him before anyone else did and hid him away in the corner of Hell he had wrested for himself.

Harry found he didn’t really like Hell all that much. No one did, according to his father, not even the demons who lived there – well... the sane ones at least. It never became one of his favorite places, but the three days he spent with his father there were the best he’d ever had.

The fact that his mother never found out made it all the better.

-

The first time Harry’s demon half actively surfaced, he was sixteen and a careless driver nearly struck his little brother as he was riding his new bike across a crosswalk. He felt no remorse when his magic flattened a tire and jammed the steering of the car, which in turn caused it to crash into a stop sign. The driver got no more than a nice bruise, a hefty fine, and a large repair bill, but his mother was furious when she found out.

His father bought him a car.

-

The first time he really fought with his father, he was nineteen and his boyfriend of two years had cheated on him with a girl and called him a fag in front of what must have been half his college dorm in an effort to save face. His father wanted to track the guy down, trick him into a deal, and forcefully bring his soul down to hell via his hellhounds, but Harry firmly put his foot down.

They argued for half an hour. Harry said it wasn’t worth it, and that the girl was such a slut she would probably give him syphilis. His father didn’t care. In the end, Harry had to threaten to ward his room with devil traps (the ones that affected his father, but didn’t work that well on him) before his father dropped the subject… by leaving the room and not speaking to him for a month.

-

When Harry was twenty-five, Lucifer escaped from his cage and the apocalypse threatened the world.

-

**Two**

-

“Great.” Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust at the two bodies laying in the driveway. He sighed and flicked his hand sideways, the bodies flying carelessly into the bushes and out of the way of his car. “Hunters,” he muttered, getting back into the driver’s seat. “They never clean up after themselves.”

He bit his lip as he parked, eyeing the open door with trepidation. He wouldn’t bother hoping his father was okay, he could take care of himself. He was more worried about what he would find inside. Usually, he had no problem with Hunters. He ignored them, and they left him alone, never knowing there was anything less than human about him. Of course, that had something to do with the fact that he never killed anyone or did anything to draw their notice, but still.

He moved quickly and silently as he entered the mansion. It was dark; Harry suspected the power had been cut to make it easier to sneak in. He walked cautiously toward his father’s study, the most likely place to find him if he had ‘company’. When he came across the second pair of bodies and the half turned rug with the devil’s trap, he grimaced. Admittedly, it was more at the destruction of an expensive Persian rug than the death of more of his father’s henchmen. He didn’t like any of them anyway. They always leered at him.

He could hear his father’s dulcet tones from behind the closed door of his study and stifled a laugh at what he heard.

“So how about you don’t _miss_?! Morons!”

Ah. The Winchesters. Figured.

He opened the door louder than he intended to and stared as three people whirled to face him, the tallest one – a Winchester – lifting a shiny gun to point at his forehead. Almost immediately, the man was flung into a wall via his father’s powers.

“Hey!” shouted the other Winchester, running to his brother’s side. “What the hell, man?”

“Rule one of this little partnership,” his father growled, “do not ever - and I mean _ever_ \- _point a gun at him_!” Harry smiled at the bemused look the brother shared. “Harry!” His father rounded the table and threw an arm over his shoulder, guiding him to the bar behind the desk. “Come in, come in! Have a drink. How are you? How’s your mother?” He paused and narrowed his eyes at him. “Does she know you’re here?”

“No, thank you. Good. Great. She thinks I’m still at school.” Crowley grinned.

“Excellent! So tell me, why exactly have you traveled halfway across the country to come see me, eh? Not that I’m not happy to see you of course.”

“What…” said one Winchester.

“…the hell?” finished the other.

The two turned, somewhat surprised to see them still there. They brothers both wore expressions of extreme confusion.

“You must be the infamous Winchesters,” Harry said with a smile. “I’m guessing the destruction of the rug in the hallway – which more than likely costs more than you two manage to steal in a year – was your doing?” The taller of the brothers managed to look a little contrite, though the other just gave him a stubborn look.

“Maybe. Who the hell are you?”

“Don’t answer that.” Crowley narrowed his eyes pointedly. “They were just leaving – weren’t you, Dean?” Dean glared at him.

“Not without the bullets.”

“Bullets?” Harry looked at his father in question, before it dawned on him what they must have meant. “For the Colt. _The_ Colt. You’re _giving_ them the Colt? Are you _insane_?” He looked at his father like he’d grown a second head. Crowley shrugged.

“They want to kill Lucifer. I want them to kill Lucifer. Seems like a good idea.”

“So it’s true then.” Harry sighed and leaned against the desk. “I’ve been seeing the signs,” he said solemnly. “I figured he must have escaped from the pit when one of the Horsemen showed up at Princeton. Half the hospital came down with malaria. I left as soon as I figured what was going on, but….” Harry shook his head. “I didn’t want it to be true. That’s why I came to see you, Dad.”

“Hold up,” said Sam, flicking his eyes between the two. “You have a _kid_?”

“Seriously?” Dean looked both horrified and amused. “Someone actually slept with you?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “No, he appeared out of thin air,” he said sarcastically.

“To be fair, you didn’t really give Mum much of a choice,” Harry quipped.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the three other men said at the same time. They gave each other strange looks, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Look, I am perfectly fine knowing that the only reason I was born was because Mum made a deal and you just happened to be the one that answered the summons, really I am, but can we get back to the point?” Harry said in annoyance. “What _exactly_ is the plan to get rid of Lucifer? Because honestly, I can only see one end to you teaming up with them,” he waved absently at the brothers, “and to be honest I don’t quite like the odds. I would kind of like to live long enough to see my next birthday, you know.”

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Dean muttered.

“I think that’s because we were,” Sam whispered back.

“Look, fun as this fucked up family reunion is, I would really like to get out of here; so can you just hand over the ammo so we can go? And by the way,” Dean pointed at Harry, “we are perfectly capable of ganking the devil, got it?” Harry rolled his eyes.

Crowley tossed Dean the velvet case containing the Colt’s bullets and looked pointedly at the door. Harry watched the brother’s leave with a peculiar look on his face. His father narrowed his eyes at him.

“I know that look,” he said, sipping at his brandy. “I also know I don’t like it.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Harry rounded the desk and poured himself a glass.

“Bullshit. You’re thinking of doing something stupid, reckless, and dangerous.”

“Okay, maybe a little.”

“Well, stop.” Crowley put his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “I want you to stay out of this, Harry. Stay away from this, away from the Winchesters, and as far away from Lucifer as you can get. Go home, Harry. Go back to London and stay there until I come and get you.” Crowley grabbed his chin as Harry scoffed and tried to look away. “I mean it. Bad things are going to happen. I may be a demon, but you are my son. If there is one thing I want aside from an endless supply of souls to deal, I want you safe.”

“I know, Dad,” Harry said softly. “But you know I can’t just stay away. I want you safe too.”

Crowley growled and paced for a few moments before sitting down and leaning back in his chair.

“They’ll be in Sioux Falls. And how do you know they won’t just shoot first and ask questions later, eh?” Harry grinned and showed him something in his hand.

“I don’t. But I have a feeling they might hear me out at least, especially when they realize you gave them an empty bullet case.”

Crowley laughed.

-

**Three**

-

Singer Auto Salvage was a dump. Not that Harry expected anything less, of course. There were piles and piles of cars in various states of destruction, most nothing more than glorified shells. The best car in the place was a shiny black Impala, parked in front of a slightly run down two-story home. Harry parked next to it and got out, casting a cautious eye around.

The front door of the house opened, and for the second time in as many days, Harry faced the muzzle of a gun. He smiled at the man behind the trigger. Dean Winchester glared back at him.

“The hell do you want?”

“As cliché as this sounds, it’s not what I want, but what you do.”

“Yeah? Well I don’t think I need anything you might be offering, so why don’t you go on home?” Dean shot him a smug smirk and slammed the door shut.

Harry sighed. “Hunters,” he muttered. He disappeared.

The inside of house was slightly nicer than the outside, which wasn’t saying much. The first person to notice him was a dark-haired man in a trench coat, who jerked around to face him, causing a chain reaction. Five guns pointed at him this time, one from each of the Winchester’s, two women, and an older man in a wheelchair.

“I really think you do, Dean.” He leaned against a wall with his hands in his pockets and crossed his ankles nonchalantly. “May I call you Dean?”

“No,” said the elder Winchester, gritting his teeth. “Now get out.”

“Wait, how’d you even get in?” asked his brother. “This house is warded against demon entry.”

“He’s a demon?” said the man in the wheelchair. Bobby Singer, Harry assumed. Bobby cocked his gun.

“No.” The man in the trench coat stood. “Not completely.” Harry shrugged, nodding in agreement.

“My mother was as human as any. Suppose that makes me only half demon. Not quite sure how it works myself, but you know, the whole mental imagery thing about your parents having sex.” He shuddered. “Yeah. _So_ was not going there. Ever.”

“That still doesn’t explain what the hell you’re doing in my house,” Bobby demanded.

“Oh, right!” Harry took a small black case out of his pocket and flipped it open. “I believe that pretty new gun of yours needs ammunition, correct?”

“What?” Dean dug frantically through his pockets before he found the case Crowley had given him and opened it. It was completely empty. “Fuck!” He threw the case at the wall. “That bastard never intended to give us the bullets, did he? What, does he want a deal for our soul? Is that it?”

“No. I think he thought it would be funny.” Harry grinned. “You can have them. No soul required.”

“Yeah? And what’s the catch?” The older of the two women finally spoke up, glaring at him suspiciously. “No way a demon would give us anything for free.”

“Half demon,” Harry corrected. “And you’re right, I do want something.”

“Well, that figures,” muttered Sam. “So what do you want?”

Harry rocked the case back and forth between his fingers. “I want to help. Without arguments and without having to worry if I’m going to be shot in the back.”

“And in what possible way do you think _you_ could help _us_?” asked Bobby. Harry shrugged.

"I'm a med student. Considering your determination to go through with suicide by supreme evil, I figure I could at least try to keep you alive while you attempt to,” Harry grimaced, “ _gank_ the devil.” He raised his eyebrow. “Seriously? _Gank_? Who even came up with that word? It sounds like an extremely uncomfortable body function." In the back of the room, the younger girl coughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand, though unable to hide her amusement.

“That still does not answer why you, a half demon, would want to help us,” said Trench Coat Man.

“Gee, thanks. I assume that because my father is a demon that I’m automatically supposed to be some evil bastard, is that it? Well, in case you missed it, my mother is _human_. She raised me to always do what I believed was right.”

“Your mother made a deal with Crowley,” Dean pointed out. “That doesn’t say much about her character.”

“She is a good woman,” Harry growled.

“Who made a deal with a demon.”

“She was desperate for a child and had just been told that she would never be able to give birth. Who are you to judge?” he snapped. “Didn’t you also make a deal? And not only that, but _your_ deal started the apocalypse. Take a good long look at yourself before you dare lecture _me_ about fucking character, asshole.” The room was silent, tension thick and palpable in the air. Harry sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “So will you let me help you or not, because otherwise I should really head home to London and make sure my family is somewhere safe.” He held up the bullet case and shook it back and forth. "Going once… going twice…"

"Wait." The taller of the two brothers took half a step forward, hand raised almost as if to stop him from leaving. "Just… wait a minute."

After a moment of silent communication within the group of hunters, Harry was banished to the furthest corner of the room while the others congregated in the kitchen and talked in furious whispers. Harry amused himself by watching them and making up their conversation in his head before he grew bored with that and switched to conjuring up a ball of light and tossing it into the air like a softball. After ten minutes, when the verdict still hadn’t come it, he began to throw it against a wall like a bouncy ball. Twenty minutes after the discussion started, they returned to the sitting room. He vanished the ball and faced them expectantly.

“You get one chance, boy,” Bobby said in a low voice; Harry grimaced at the nickname. “One screw-up and it’s curtains for you, got it?” Harry grinned and bounced on the balls of his feet.

“Excellent. I'll just return after work then, shall I?"

"Hold up there, Spawn. The ammo. Hand it over." Dean held out his hand expectantly, arrogance written all over his features. Harry narrowed his eyes, his grin a little sharper than before. The experienced hunters in the room tensed as the air around the half-demon seemed to warp and shimmer a little like air on a hot day.

"Let's get one thing strait, here," he said calmly, tossing the bullet case lightly in the air. "My name is Harry. It is not Boy. It is not Spawn. _Harry_. I offered you my assistance - mostly freely - only because, as the _only_ few actually trying to stop the apocalypse, you need all the help you can get. Since you no longer have the excuse of not knowing my name, 'conveniently forgetting it' will have consequences. One of which may be that I, _and the bullets_ , simply… disappear. After all," he purred, eyes locked with the elder Winchester (whom looked as though he was doing his best not to shove his fist in Harry's face - or just shoot him), "your agreement with my father was for the _gun_. Nothing else. _Got it_?" he mocked.


	20. The One With the Chocolate Factory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Candy Man:
> 
> Grandpa Joe woke up with a cold that morning, so it was decided that Cousin Harry would take Charlie to the factory instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one came while I was watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory over and over again (the one with Johnny Depp, not the one with Gene Wilder. I've never liked him. He gives me the willies. No pun intended.) I don't know if anyone has ever done something like this, and I doubt it included a Willy/Harry pairing, which this was intended to be.

**Prologue**

0o0

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket woke up one November morning to find it unpleasantly wet. This didn't deter them from their usual routine, however. Mrs. Bucket worked quickly and efficiently to make a pot of piping hot cabbage soup, which she then ladled into six bowls for her, her husband, her parents, and her parents in law. Mr. Bucket, who worked at a toothpaste factory, got ready for work.

The family of six sat together around a rather large bed, in which four of them laid. They spoke of inconsequential things, mostly what was in the morning paper, toothpaste brands, and the nosy neighbors down the hill. For most of the time, they drank their soup and felt comforted with the presence of each other. They cared not that their house was rather beaten, nor that they were dressed in rags, nor even that they often had barely enough to eat.

Just as Mr. Bucket was about to set off to work, with a kiss to his wife and a wave to his parents, there came a knock at the door. All six exchanged looks and Mr. Bucket answered the door. On the steps stood a man he never would have expected to see.

"Why Vernon," said Danielle Bucket to her estranged third cousin's husband, "whatever are you doing here?" Vernon Dursley, related to Danielle Bucket on his wife's mother's father's sister's side, twitched his overly large mustache and entered their house with a grimace of distaste. A blanket-covered bundle moved restlessly in his arms.

"This," he said, glancing at the bundle with an even larger amount of distaste, "was left on my doorstep yesterday morning." Part of the blanket slipped off to reveal a dark-haired child, who blinked sleepy green eyes at the other occupants of the room. "He belonged to your other cousin, Petunia's sister. My wife and I have agreed that we have no wish to raise the child, so I came here to ask if you would be willing. If you are not," again he glanced around the room in distaste, "then I shall drop him off at the nearest orphanage and be done with it."

Daniel and Danielle Bucket looked at each other, then at the child. He was a rather cute babe, with shining emerald eyes and a curious mar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. They fell in love with him immediately.

It was well known in their small family that Mr. and Mrs. Bucket had wanted a child for a very long time now, but have been unable to conceive. Mr. Dursley's arrival with the child was an unexpected but pleasant gift, and despite the fact that Mr. Dursley was as onerous as they came, they were sure that this child deserved much better than an out-of-the-way orphanage.

"Of course we'll take him, Vernon," said Daniel Bucket, taking the child from his arms. It was not hard to miss the way Vernon stepped away from them immediately after, as though they and the child held some kind of disease.

"Good," said Vernon Dursley, his mustache twitching once more. "Then I shall take my leave. His name is Harry Potter. Do not expect to see me again." And with that, he was gone.

"What a despicable man," said George Bucket, glaring at the door after him.

"But what a darling child," said Joanne Darling, gazing at the babe her daughter now held.

The four Buckets and two Darlings gazed at the child adoringly and knew, no matter what, that the babe named Harry Potter would forever be a part of their family.

0o0

**Chapter One**

0o0

At five years old, Harry Potter-Bucket was a rather curious child. Everything he saw he wanted to know about. He would often ask his Auntie Mum and Uncle Da hundreds of questions, most of which were off the subject of what he had at first wanted to know about. One summer, he had asked why some days had clouds and other days did not. That line of questioning would continue on to why it rained, and why it didn't snow in the summer, and why some snow was perfect for making snowmen and having snowball fights and other snow wasn't.

His parents, who were never quite able to explain why they were both his parents and his aunt and uncle (although technically they were his third cousins once removed), would bare these questions with remarkable patience and answer each one as best they could. Whenever he would ask them a question they could not answer, they would simply say, "I don't know, dear heart." At such an answer he would either ask another question or make up a story to explain it himself.

Harry was so curious a child that his rather high-strung kindergarten teacher often sent notes home with him explaining that if he did not learn to keep insignificant questions to himself she would have no other choice than to put him in a different class. He was a bright and sweet child, really, she often said, but his abundant questions disrupted the flow of class. After several of these notes, each one getting more and more frustrated, the school board interfered and Harry was moved to a higher-level class with the explanation that his work far exceeded the expected level of his current class and his was teacher summarily moved to another district.

Although he loved his Auntie Mum and Uncle Da, Harry adored his grandparents. He could sit and listen to Grandpa Joe's stories for hours, often asking questions that were immediately answered. When Grandpa Joe got tired from telling stories, Harry would watch Grandma Joanne and Grandma Georgina knit beautiful scarves and warm, fluffy mittens while Grandpa George read to him from the newspaper and made him laugh with all of his comments. It was not unusual for him to be found curled up in the center of their large bed fast asleep.

The winter of his fifth year was particularly snowy and cold. One day in early December, Harry was alone. Well, not really; his grandparents were home with him, but they were all asleep. His parents were outside, his father trying to gather enough wood to last them through the rest of the winter and his mother gathering cabbage from the garden, and Harry was not allowed to go with them because of the cold. With no one to talk to or tell him stories, he was rather bored.

'Well, this is no good,' he thought. 'I might as well read a book.' So he hopped off of his bed and went downstairs to choose one from the shelf. He perused the books for a moment before deciding which one he wanted. However, he encountered a small problem; the book was on a shelf much too high for him to reach. He briefly considered climbing the shelves for it, but his mother had scolded him smartly the last time he had done so after he had fallen from it, and he didn't want to risk doing it again.

"I wish that book wasn't so high," he said to himself, frowning at it. Then, in front of his astonished eyes, the book wobbled briefly and then fell to the floor. The noise startled his grandparents awake. His parents, who were just coming through the door, gave him the look they usually did when he was in trouble.

"Harry, darling, you must be careful," said his mother.

"But I didn't do it," Harry said. "At least, I don't think I did. The book moved and fell to the floor, all on its own."

"Now Harry," scolded his father, "you mustn't tell lies." Harry frowned at them for a moment, then at the book.

"I didn't lie," Harry said finally. "I'll prove it to you." He put the book on the highest shelf he could reach and took several steps back to make sure that no one could say he must have touched the book himself. Then, staring hard at the book, he said, "I wish I could have the book."

Once again, the book wobbled off of the shelf. This time, however, it floated calmly to him and stayed there until he took it out of the air.

"See?" he said, turning to his parents.

"Heavens above," Grandma Joanne breathed.

"Amazing," went Grandpa Joe.

"I knew he was special," said Grandpa George smugly.

"Applesauce goes great with turkey," said Grandma Georgina, who wasn't quite all there.

"Oh my," said his mother.

His father stared hard at the book before commenting, dazed, "My mistake."

"Sorry for waking you," Harry said to his grandparents. Then he clutched the book to his chest and went upstairs to read.

0o0

When Harry was seven, his brother Charlie was born. Harry was fascinated with the tiny baby that now shared their home, and spent a lot of his time sitting unusually quiet next to the small brass cradle next to his parent's bed. Harry amused his little brother by floating his toys just a bit above him when the babe was awake, and read to him while he slept. When he was not doing either of these things, he talked to him about anything and everything.

"Did you know," he said to the fascinated infant, "That a mouse's heart beats over five hundred times a minute? It beats so fast it sounds like it's humming."

Charlie gurgled and clapped his hands (a recent accomplishment, one which he was apt to do often).

"He's so good with him," Danielle murmured to her parents as she chopped up some cabbage.

"They're going to be the best of friends," said Grandma Joanne.

"The very best," agreed Grandpa Joe.

"Good thing he's with us, isn't it," grumbled Grandpa George. "That rotten Dursley would have stifled him."

"Did you say rotten apples?" asked Grandma Georgina. "I don't like rotten apples."

"The very rottenest," said Danielle.

0o0

As it turned out, Harry and Charlie seemed to be very suitable companions. Charlie learned to talk early, and following in his brother’s footsteps had a very curious mind indeed. As Harry grew older, he began to ask less questions and go about trying to answer them for himself. Around that same time, Charlie started asking questions of his own.

Their father called it, “Picking up from where Harry left off”. Their mother called it a blessing to have, “Two such remarkably smart boys”. Their grandmothers called it sweet, while Grandpa Joe decided it was absolutely marvelous. What Grandpa George called it wasn’t exactly suitable in polite company. (Not that he was any less proud, of course.)

When Harry was eleven, and Charlie four, an interesting letter arrived for him, tied to the leg of a small brown owl.

“An owl?” said their mother. “In the middle of the day?”

“Never mind that, what on Earth is it doing with a letter?” asked Grandpa George.

“What’s it say, Harry, what’s it say?” said Charlie excitedly, tugging on his trousers.

“ _What does it_ say,” corrected Harry absently, staring at the strange crest on the wax seal. He carefully peeled the wax from the thick envelope and pulled out the letter within. “Dear Mr. Potter,” he read.


	21. The One Where Lucius Married Remus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My Mother, the Werewolf:
> 
> Draco's mother is known werewolf Remus Lupin. He's rather proud of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was doing a Lucius Drabble Series thing wherein each "book" contained unrelated drabbles of Lucius paired with someone other than Narcissa. The first book was going to be Harry, the second Remus, the third Sirius, and then I never got anywhere and lost steam. I might return to it, though.
> 
> This is actually the only completed one shot in the series that may never be. (Maybe I should post it as a separate fic...)
> 
> Warning: mpreg and racism.

**My Mother, the Werewolf**

**June 5, 1980, 13:43hr  
Master Bedrooms, West Wing, Malfoy Manor**

"Lucius Abraxas Ulysses Constantine Malfoy. I'm going to _murder_ you."

Lucius gulped. Well, he would have, anyway, had Malfoys been those who gulp in fear. As it was, they weren't so he didn't, but he came very, very close.

Now why, may you ask, is Lucius Malfoy seconds from running away screaming in abject terror like a frightened little girl? Well, it could have something to do with the look his husband was currently giving him. Or the fact that, with the full moon so near, his teeth were rather pointed-looking and his fingers rather long and nails rather sharp. Or maybe even that his beloved wolf was halfway through labor with their firstborn child.

Nope, definitely the look.

It was one that promised a good deal amount of pain in the near future, especially when coupled with the Tone. Everyone and their aunt's husband's brother's neighbor's dog twice removed knew that when Remus was angry and talking calmly, someone was going to be stuck in the hospital wing for a fair bit amount of time wishing they hadn't been anywhere near Remus that day. Alaska sounded like a nice place to hide out.

Not that a Malfoy would stoop to hiding of course. Gracious no. It was unheard of. Unthinkable even. Where'd he put that emergency portkey?

"If you would kindly hand me my wand so I may do just that, I would appreciate it, thank you."

"Mr. Lupin!" The midwife Lucius had hired several months before (best in her field, of course) gave him an unhappy, scandalized look. "What did I tell you about using magic during your last trimester? Kill him later." Remus almost looked like he was pouting, but that was quickly gone as he gasped sharply in pain as a contraction hit.

"I'm sure it can't be worse than the full moon," Lucius muttered, not daring to speak louder. Apparently, Remus heard him anyway as something dangerous flashed in his eyes.

"Would you like to find out, dear husband?"

Lucius was seriously tempted to gulp. Again.

"…er… no, not really." All Malfoy pride and composure was well and thrown out of the window by this point. Remus was just _scary_.

"Lucius… we're getting you _fixed_ after this…" Remus growled though another contraction. Lucius took a few steps backwards.

"Now, really, Remus," he protested weakly. "Is that truly necessary?"

"I could always kill you instead."

Lucius remained silent.

Two hours, a few hundred threats to both life and manhood, and a Lucius who was mentally writing his will later, a pink, wailing infant was gently placed into the arms of her tired and sweaty patient by the smiling and vastly amused midwife.

"Congratulation, Remus dear. It's a boy." Remus looked at his new son through lidded eyes, smiling softly. The child stopped crying after a minute, hiccupping softly as he stared up at his mother through ice blue eyes sporting streaks of amber. The curious tilt of his head almost overpowered the obvious Malfoy Look of, 'Who are you, peasant, and why are you staring at me?' that all Malfoys (or at least the ones he had met) sent toward the people who gaped at them as they passed in the streets. He looked up at his husband, who looked as though he was trying to decide if his manhood was safe or not. Remus quirked his lips in amusement.

"Lucius, come look at your son."

Relieved, Lucius stepped forward and looked down at the child in something akin to wonderment. The Malfoy Veela genes were obviously very strong in the child with the soft tufts of golden hair already sprouting from his head that would lighten with age. But the wolf remained, he noticed; the amber flakes in his son's eyes and strength in his hands as the infant grasped one of his father's fingers.

"He's beautiful," Lucius murmured. He looked up into his husband's eyes. "What shall we call him, love?" Remus gazed at his son for a moment, running a finger softly down his cheek as the infant yawned silently and fell asleep.

"Draco. Draco Conan Lucius Malfoy."

**November, 1985  
Flourish and Blotts, Diagon Alley**

It was snowing lightly, the kind of snow that makes wonderful snowmen and is perfect for snowball fights. Diagon Alley was decked out beautifully for Christmas, just as it was every year, but somehow the perfect weather made it even more so. The shops were beginning to fill up with early Christmas shoppers, mostly those who hated the last minute rush and the suffocating crowds of mid December. One of the least crowded shops was Flourish and Blotts; it was always fullest the week before Christmas with desperate last-minute shoppers who didn't know what else to get for those they found hardest to shop for. Practically empty was just how Lucius Malfoy liked it, fewer shoppers meant less people likely to bother him while he searched for the book his husband had been hinting about for the past six weeks.

"Father." Lucius Malfoy paused his perusal of the bookshelf to look down at his son.

"Yes, Draco?" Draco frowned, brows furrowed in a remarkable impression of his mother when he was thinking very hard about something.

"Why does Mother not come with us?" Lucius was silent for a moment, glancing around quickly for possible eavesdroppers.

"That is neither a discussion for here or now, Draco. Ask me again when we return home."

Draco frowned again but didn't protest. He was almost completely silent for the rest of the trip down Diagon Alley, speaking only when his father asked him a question. Almost as soon as they'd stepped out of the floo and dusted the snow and soot off of themselves he asked again.

"Father, why does Mother not come with us?" Lucius sighed and called for a house elf to take their coats and purchases and another to bring refreshments to the back drawing room.

"Draco, do you remember what I told you when you asked me where your mother went a few nights out of every month?" Draco nodded. He sat very still with his hands folded together in his lap and stared at his father openly. Lucius quickly hid an amused smile; Draco looked exactly like Lucius but acted very much like Remus.

"Yes. You said it was because he was a werewolf and goes somewhere especially for him to transform."

"That's right. It is for the same reason your mother does not come with us to Diagon Alley." Draco furrowed his brows in confusion.

"But what does being a werewolf have to do with shopping?" Lucius signed wearily.

"Everything. You will soon learn, Draco, that not everyone looks upon werewolves in the same light as we do. Most of the wizarding world ostracizes werewolves for being dark creatures; for turning into a wolf on the full moon. They believe them to be bloodthirsty monsters and look upon them with fear and disgust." Lucius rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Right now there is legislation floating around the ministry that would not bode well for werewolves should it pass into law. Many wizards are for this law, however, there are others like myself who are fighting against it. Until it is decided one way or another, it would not be… safe for your mother to be seen in such places as Diagon Alley."

"Mother is a Malfoy," Draco said sharply, scowling. "No one would dare do anything to him." Lucius's mouth quirked in amusement.

"That is true, however, it is not widely known that your mother and I are wed. We have been very diligent in keeping it to ourselves and close friends and family. You would do well to help us keep it that way, at least for now." Draco huffed and glared sullenly at the carpet.

"It's not fair." Lucius eyed his son and sipped at his tea.

"No, Draco. It isn't fair at all." They sat in silence for a long while before they heard the distinct sounds of someone coming through the floo.

"Hello? Lucius, Draco, are you home?" Draco perked up and hopped off the couch to rush to the door.

"We're in the back room, Mother!" Draco called out the door. Lucius stood and laid a hand on his shoulders, giving him a stern look.

"Now, not a word of our discussion to your mother, Draco." Draco nodded in understanding.

"Yes, Father."

"Ah, there you are!" Remus smiled brightly at them, brushing the snow out of his hair, cheeks flushed from the cold. "Did you both have fun today?" He gave Lucius a chaste kiss while Draco attached himself to his leg.

"Yes! Quality Quidditch Supplies had a brand new training broom out, you should have seen it! It goes a whole fifteen feet into the air, instead of ten like the old one, and goes up to twenty miles an hour…."

**August, 1990  
Madam Malkin's, Diagon Alley**

Draco waited rather impatiently on the stool for the tape to finish taking his measurements. His eyes roamed the shop impassively, taking in the seamstresses rushing to and fro, the various robe designs tacked onto the wall, and the pair of scissors fighting in the corner. He watched the fight for a moment until one of the seamstresses jabbed at them angrily with her wand and broke it up, then switched his attention to another boy being led to the footstool next to him. He was a bit taller, obviously a few years older than him. Probably a first or second year at Hogwarts. The boy turned and stared at him.

"Hey, you. Are you starting Hogwarts too?" Draco frowned, wondering whether or not to answer.

"Not yet," he said finally. "I have to wait until next year."

"Oh. I thought you were kind of short for eleven anyway." Draco narrowed his eyes. The boy either didn't notice or wasn't paying attention as he continued to prattle. "My sister starts next year too. My brother's a fourth year. He won't let me read any of his books, though. He says he doesn't want me to get ideas."

"Hm." Draco stared out of the window blankly and tried to tune him out. It wasn't easy, though, and he caught a few random comments about Quidditch, his family, and Hogwarts, in which he made a few noncommittal noises to feign interest.

"Hey, hey, look there. Who's that man staring into the window?" Draco blinked and turned his head slightly. He straitened up a bit and smiled as he caught sight of his mother watching him with an amused smirk. "Hey, isn't that the man that beat the new Ministry regulations on werewolves? Remis Leaping or something." Draco glared at the boy coldly.

"His name is Remus Lupin." The boy shrugged.

"Whatever. My mum says he lead the group that beat the new law to force werewolves to gain permission from the ministry to have kids. Mum says he's a werewolf himself, and that's why he fought against it so hard. She says the ministry shouldn't have backed down so easily. She says werewolves should all be gathered together and caged somewhere so we can keep an eye on them. That they're all just a bunch of animals, really." Draco's glare grew icy.

"Your mother is a twit." The boy turned to him, affronted.

"Hey, don't insult my mother like that!" Draco ignored him and continued.

"Remus Lupin is a hero. If it were up to the ministry, every werewolf in Britain would have been hunted down and killed for nothing other than turning into a wolf once a month. Thanks to him, the ministry had to start supplying Wolfsbane potion to every werewolf who couldn't afford it so they could keep their minds every month during their transformation. It's thanks to him that people like you are safe from werewolves on the full moon and that the werewolves hadn't turned against the ministry. You should be grateful for everything he's done." The kid's face had gone red during his speech, in either anger, embarrassment, or both.

"What's it to you, anyway. So what? He's still just a werewolf."

" _He_ ," Draco said, sneering at the other boy, "is no ordinary werewolf." He puffed his chest out in pride and smiled at Remus through the window. "He's my mother."


	22. The One That Was a Tumblr Post

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rambling idea I posted on tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just a rambling thing I put up on tumblr, but my friend was all, "you should add that to your drabble dump", so... here. I guess.

I need to stop reading anything ever written by [Rorschach’s Blot](http:/www.fanfiction.net/u/686093) because plunnies start appearing from nowhere like “ahaha, remember that one idea you had? Well, me and it had a thing and yeah, get ready for a million grandkids” and then boom, brain explodes and I’m running out of paper to write on and my hand is cramping, where the fuck are my other pens, screw it, gimme a pencil, and then the lead breaks and it’s like gahghjkkjhrfl!!?? *dies*. 

you know?

Cuz now I have this idea that Sirius got sick of being told to stay inside like a grounded teenager so he and Remus kidnap Harry and are like, screw everyone, you’re a kid, let’s not make you fight a war the previous generation started, who cares what some batty old biddy obsessed with incense and bangles said? And Harry was like, right on, let’s go.

For some reason they decide to make money from their vacation so they think of something to do and settle on collecting really hard to find potion ingredients cuz like, adventure and stuff. Sirius want to go to Australia for the added bonus of babes and opals but Remus thinks Brazil would be better, and Harry heard something about Africa once for like a second from Hermione, but in the end they’re like screw it, we’ll go everywhere so they start the Semi-Mobile Potion Parts Purveyor Inc where they go whenever they want to and set up camp for a while before leaving to go somewhere else.

And one of them knows/finds a spell to make legal illegal untraceable portkeys that works more like apparating a bunch of things/people at once used by some Russian magical traveling circus or something so that’s how they get around. And people back home are like we are so done with this, so they join up with them and start semi-mobile businesses too (like the twins make a semi-mobile WWW branch and Luna and Hagrid join up to make a semi-mobile zoo, and Neville decides that finding and growing exotic plants sounds fun, and others come too, and eventually someone’s like, why not a semi-mobile traveling inn, and everyone’s like, that’s a totally awesome idea!)

and meanwhile

Everyone (Dumbledore/Ministry/Voldemort) wants to know where the hell the Hero is cuz there’s like a war going on, right? So they all send people out to find/capture/kill him but Harry’s luck is like, insane, so they somehow miss him by juuuust a bit and usually find themselves in a bit of a “situation” which ends up often being hilarious and usually painful but never anything good. So the war never actually gets off the ground and eventually things just smooth themselves out somehow or Voldemort just spontaneously combusts, who knows.

and Harry, Sirius, and Remus just go on traveling the world. The End.

Darn you, RB.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on my new [tumblr](http://plunniewhisperer.tumblr.com/). If you want.


End file.
